The Four Feathers
by DJ666
Summary: Ch.12 up! Sabbaticals lengthen, and I explain why. Sort of. Nudity, long words and kinkiness abound. Read on.
1. When Cheese Goes Bad

Four Feathers by DJ666  
  
Aha! My triumphant return to ff.net! *no one cares* Um, anyway, one day (post-Meteor) ma main man Vinny is surfing the net when he stumbles across a Yuffentine on FF.net.and proceeds to go on a quest to kill the kid who wrote it.  
  
Content: Swearing, I think. Some crude humor. No sex.yet (BWAHAHAHA!!!).  
  
Disclaimer: I am God, and therefor DO own these characters.  
  
***** ***** ***** ***** *****  
  
Chapter One: When Cheese Goes Bad  
  
"Just a sec!" yelled Yuffie to whoever was knocking at the door of her humble abode. She tried desperately to get her chin into her attacker's elbow, to slip out of the headlock, but to no avail - the fist came down swiftly onto her noggin.  
  
"Noogies!" cried Godo, grinding his knuckles against his daughter's cranium with unnecessary force. He laughed aloud like a two-year-old before releasing the girl and standing briskly. "I win again, Yuffie. Again! Why is it that you could only beat me the once, in the pagoda?"  
  
The teen muttered darkly. "Because Chekhov had you rustier than that nail I tried to poison you with last month."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Nuthin'," Yuffie insisted. She groaned lightly, rubbing her back. "You know, traditional sumo does not include noogies."  
  
"Yeah, but what's the fun of running around in a humongous thong without getting to doubly humiliate your offspring?" Godo pointed out. "Just be glad we didn't do this in public." The other grimaced at the memory of the time they *had* grappled in public. She'd ended up breathless, bloody, sweaty, and rather overexposed.  
  
Pulling the material of his belt out of his butt, Godo sprang from the room with surprising quickness. His daughter, still shaking her head to clear it from the residual nooginess, strode slowly to the door. She slid it open to find -  
  
"Vinnie?"  
  
***** ***** ***** ***** *****  
  
Vincent Valentine stood hesitantly before the Kisaragi Mansion. He was hungry, he was thirsty, he was hot, he was tired, and he had a wedgie that threatened to protrude from his lips if it advanced any further up his rectum. He had trekked a considerable distance across the continent to come here, and now he hadn't the courage to venture within.  
  
"Come on!" wheedled Bob. "Yeah!" said Steve. "OPEN THEY DOOR!!" Bob yelled, obviously distraught.  
  
Vincent's eye twitched. Must . . . endure . . . incest-bred hicks . . .  
  
"Vince, open the door!"  
  
"All RIGHT!" he snarled, whipping about with Death Penalty clutched with a white-knuckle grip in his human hand. "If you don't both SHUT UP, I SWEAR I will TEAR your scrotums from your groins and use them to SMOTHER you while you CHOKE on your own testicles. I am REALLY in a BAD MOOD right now so just QUIT IT. I am TRYING to reach Yuffie, but can NOT simply call her on a WHIM as YOU would have me do." He spoke with the voice of the devil himself:  
  
"CAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALM DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWN!"  
  
"Oh," Bob said. "Yeah," said Steve. There was dangerous glint in Vincent's eyes. The glint of a man driven to the edge of insanity in an '84 Dodge pickup and then dragged back by a pair of muscle-bound bimbos name Bob and Steve. "She's not coming," Bob pointed out.  
  
"Yeah," said Steve.  
  
Bob and Steve collectively became somewhat akin to red Jell-O as Death Penalty flashed to life. Vincent found himself standing before Yuffie's door with two piles of a gelatinous dessert and an empty rifle. He felt something warm dripping down his face, and wiped it off with his cloak - blood tends not to show up on scarlet cloth. Then, he knocked.  
  
"Just a sec!" he heard from within, accompanied by several grunts, shouts, and what sounded conspicuously like 'cookies'.  
  
Ooh! Cookies! thought Vincent. His culinary fantasies were abruptly dashed when the door slid open. He could not smell any cookies; he could smell sweat, what may have been some very bad cheese, and maybe some blood; what he saw captivated him.  
  
Yuffie, standing in her doorway, coated in sweat, her hair tactfully disheveled and her lithe figure wrapped in a tasteful two-piece sumo outfit.  
  
"Vinnie?" she inquired, puzzled by his presence.  
  
"Hello, Yuffie," he greeted her, cool and calm, as always.  
  
"Ew! What's that smell?" The ninja pinched her nostrils shut. "Something smells like a dead body!"  
  
Vincent kicked Bob's corpse out of sight. "I am not sure," he lied quietly. "Might I come in, away from the stink?"  
  
"Sure," Yuffie said, turning away from the door and leaving at open for her companion to enter. The dark-robed rifleman holstered his weapon and swept himself within, shutting the portal behind him in a single swift turn. He lowered his gaze to the floor and followed Yuffie's smooth, tanned legs wherever they would take him.  
  
It ended up being the kitchen. His guide knelt before a Wutaian table and opened a small jar. "Cookie?" she offered.  
  
I knew it! Vincent thought privately, with some satisfaction. He silently plucked the pastry from his hostess' outstretched hand and consumed it voraciously. "May I have a drink?" he inquired. Yuffie nodded: "Sure. Just watch out when you open the fridge . . . I think the cheese went bad."  
  
Vincent realized with sudden panic that the stench of the Steve steaks that he'd left smoking outside the residence had stuck to him like dingleberries on a bison's butt hair. He frowned, irked greatly by this unfortunate turn of events, and decided to simply go with the flow. "That is some very stinky cheese," he agreed as he plucked a beer or six from the refrigerator. Using his metal claw, he tore apart the tin cans and drained the fluid within.  
  
"Thirsty?" Yuffie asked sarcastically.  
  
Vincent nodded, grabbing one of The Cat Lady's feline fellas and drinking its blood. "Dude, that's cold," Yuffie remarked. The gunman agreed, licking his lips. "I know. I was always sure that cats were warm-blooded, but it chills so fast anyway. It feels so good when you've just come in from a long journey."  
  
"A long journey?" asked Godo, dropping down from the ceiling in front of Vincent. The cloaked visitor grabbed the man by his neck and put his foot down his throat. When he realized it was Yuffie's father, he tried to shove it down farther, but to no avail; Godo popped it off, swallowed it, and replaced it. With what appeared to be a vibrating dildo.  
  
"DAD, WHERE'D YOU GET THAT?!" shouted Yuffie in alarm. She grabbed the improvised prosthesis and put it - in a safe place. Every inch of exposed flesh (which, when one is wearing a female fundoshi, accounts for approximately 98.274% of one's body) blushed a furious red, instantly reminding Vincent of the mutilated carrion sitting in the hedges of the Kisaragis' house.  
  
"So," began Godo once again, duct-taping a gargantuan carrot to his hip, "you were talking about a long journey?"  
  
"Yeah," Yuffie jumped in, "what long journey? Why are you here?"  
  
Vincent sat down in a chair, pondering his precarious predicament while squeezing the drops of Steve and Bob's blood into his mouth. He licked his lips, considering seriously. He began to reminisce . . .  
  
***** ***** ***** *****  
*****  
  
"Whoa," said Bob. "She is HOT!"  
  
"Yeah!" said Steve.  
  
They were agonizing over a 56k modem that connected like a 28.8 due to the excessive crapiness of the Windows v1.2 that Bob had dragged onto the scaffolding surrounding the yet-to-be-built Strife Mansion, a kind of harem filled with women bearing bosoms the size of a guy's head when he sees the size of those bosoms.  
  
The building was being constructed with four wings, splayed out like an X on the premises. Surrounding the entrance was a garden full of beautiful foliage that was just coming into season as the spring rolled around. In the back of the house was a considerably large circular in-ground pool. Leading up to the house, through the garden, was a long road leading from Midgar's Main Street and into the governor's house. When viewed from a helicopter, several perceptive psychoanalysts had noticed, the Mansion looked like a man with a schmuck like a sonuvabitch.  
  
Bob and Steve were reclining in the genital region of the governor. I mean, the governor's mansion. Their lunch break had crept up on them like a stoned monkey on a mango. Bob, in his considerable wisdom, had had the foresight to bring some kind of entertainment during those boring periods from nine to five when you've got nothing to do. They were doing what bored guys do best, which I shall tastefully call (in order to cater to the needs of our more sensitive readers) "whacking off to a video of a sixteen-year- old Yuffie shoving whatever happens to be lying around (fruit, cookies, her webcam, her girlfriend's *spare* hand [0_o]) into a certain bodily orifice before pulling it out, relocating it to Wutai's second most popular tourist attraction, and licking it clean afterwards". Bob was enjoying this very much. "This is awesome!" said Bob. "Yeah!" said Steve. They continued with their carnal delights.  
  
Now, it happens that they are on a scaffold. And scaffolding tends to be pretty flimsy. And the Strife Mansion was not exactly, as we say, "able to withstand a light breeze from the mouth of a wailing two-year-old". So as the boys were doin' somethin' a-shockin', that scaffold went a-rockin'. The scaffold crushed Cloud Strife's groin-to-be.  
  
In a catastrophe of remarkable anatomical physics, the scaffold struck Strife square in the balls. This caused his legs to buckle, as wings one and two, nearest the impact, collapsed. The connecting piece in the center of it all, Cloud's muscular torso, hit the deck as its supports fell out from under it. The arms flailed about unsteadily before dropping like hot potatoes. And by fabulous chance, at that moment a black hole flung out a gamma ray, through the sun, which picked up large amounts of heat energy and several unhealthy quantities of plasma. This energy death ray-ball of doom hurtled toward the earth, bits of it flinging off into space before it was small enough to destroy one significantly large object: Cloud Strife's swimming pool. In half a second, four hundred billion gallons of water became a rather immense cloud of steam.  
  
Vincent was head of the building project. He had said, Cloud, I neither require nor desire an occupation as your slave labor. Cloud hadn't listened. Vincent was at work every day. He was standing by when Bob and Steve's jack-off extravaganza destroyed the mansion-in-building. He was crushed, by a voluminous marble pillar.  
  
"That's gotta hurt," said Bob.  
  
"Yeah," said Steve.  
  
With outstanding pain, Vincent was wrenched from beneath the obelisk. He stood up, brushed himself off, and at once got to work:  
  
"How did that just happen?" he asked, not angry at all. He was a man who had once said, "It's not so much what you're doing as the idiotic way that you're doing it." He got angry at idiots. So he was not angry until he knew, for sure, that idiocy had caused this problem.  
  
At which point he would go completely insane, tearing the culprits to shreds with his razor-sharp teeth and talons, consuming them still-alive and writhing, forcing them into his gullet, making them feel themselves being digested by his stomach acids. And all that good stuff.  
  
"Sorry about that," said Bob.  
  
"Yeah," said Steve.  
  
"You caused this incident?" Vincent inquired softly. Bob and Steve nodded slowly. "We did," said Bob. "Yeah," said Steve. "Show me," requested the shadowy foreman. He, Bob and Steve navigated through the rubble to find Bob's PC. It was showing Yuffie. And what appeared to be several midgets, a donkey, and a humanoid figure wearing a novelty penis costume. Vincent covered his face as his eyes started tearing, and as he turned away in disgust he managed to upset the computer and smash it on the ground.  
  
Must wash eyes, cleanse eyes, thought Vincent. Can't use holy water - holy water burns. Wait . . . must burn out eyes! No! Must burn out idiots' eyes!  
  
The gunman spun about, facing Bob and Steve. "We're really sorry," said Bob. "Yeah," said Steve. "I don't care," said Vincent. He sat them down, told them to pull up their pants, as their ass-cracks were showing. A passerby helpfully warned the pair, "Hold onto yer hard hats, boys."  
  
Vincent, pacing back and forth, addressed the two morons without looking at them. "Let me get this straight. You were both, when you were supposed to be checking the structural integrity of the joints of wings one and two with the main body, masturbating, while watching a recording of one of my . . . friends (Vincent shuddered imperceptibly) engaged in some private, personal and illicit activities. Due to the extremities of your pleasure, you caused your scaffold to topple into the weak wall which you were assigned to fix, thus causing the destruction of nearly a year's work. Is that right?"  
  
Bob and Steve were smiling broadly, bobbing their heads up and down. Vincent wondered how they could have smoked that much hashish in the time frame of his tiny oration. "That's right!" said Bob, gleeful. "Yeah!" said Steve. And then Bob practically exploded.  
  
"YOU KNOW YUFFIE KISARAGI???"  
  
"YEAH?" said Steve.  
  
Vincent raised an eyebrow. "Yes, I do know her. Why do you ask?"  
  
"Because she's like, the most famous Wutaian porn star EVER!" explained Bob. "Yeah," said Steve. Bob continued: "She's our favorite model in the entire catalogue. Haven't you seen any of her work?" "Yeah?" said Steve.  
  
"No, I have not - " began Vincent. However, he was abruptly interrupted by Bob. The worker began listing some rather interesting pornographic films which apparently starred the young girl whom his foreman had had the displeasure of meeting in person. "She was in Good Will Humping, Shaving Ryan's Privates, Edward Penishands, Freed Willies, Dikes in Debauchery, Who's Sucking Gilbert's Grapes?, The Dickless Horseman, The Blair Bitch 2: Book of Horny Widows - "  
  
"That is enough," Vincent insisted, coming dangerously close to blushing for the first time in his life. "I have a few, if you'd like to watch," said Bob. "Yeah," said Steve. "No thank you," replied the foreman. "I'd rather not watch any of Miss Kasaragi's sexual exploits, considering that it was they that caused the collapsed of our beloved mansion-in-progress."  
  
"About that," interrupted Bob. "I was wondering, considering that you know the Clitsucking Kisaragi herself - " Vincent swallowed hard, a light sweat beading on his brow. " - if we repaired what we did, in say, TWO DAYS, could you take us and a few friends to meet her?"  
  
"Yeah?" said Bob.  
  
Vincent considered this. He could derive certain and immediate pleasure from messily eviscerating these morons where they sat and hanging their bloody corpses from two stakes in front of Cloud's mansion as a kind of welcome-home gift. Or, he could let these idiots go on with their stupid plan and derive certainly no pleasure from, in the unlikely event that they succeeded, dragging them across a continent or two to Wutai . . . and then, ostensibly, back.  
  
Vincent was tired. Vincent had just been struck by a pillar. Vincent was very pissed off. Vincent said, "Fine. If you can rebuild the mansion in two days, I'll take you to - "  
  
"And our friends!" said Bob. "Yeah!" said Steve.  
  
"Right, you and your friends to meet Miss Kisaragi." Bob and Steve did a secret handshake. Then, they left, jumped into a car, and sped away. A minute later, they came back, grabbed the broken computer, dumped it in their trunk, and sped away once again.  
  
I'm an idiot, thought Vincent.  
  
That night, Bob and Steve posted a message online: TO ANYONE WHO HAS SEEN YUFFIE KISARAGI NAKED IN ANY WAY, SHAPE OR FORM - SEE HER AGAIN, IN PERSON. COME TO THE SITE OF THE STRIFE MANSION FOR A DAY OF FUN AND BUILDING. The message went out.  
  
The next day, everyone who'd seen Yuffie Kisaragi in naked in any way, shape or form showed up at the site. All four million, two hundred fifty- six thousand, nine hundred ninety-one of them.  
  
Reports claim that Tifa Lockheart, now Tifa Strife, was among those present.  
  
Cloud came with Marlene. Marlene had an ice cream cone. Before that ice cream had melted, the mansion was done. Cloud was very happy. Marlene was not. Her ice cream had melted.  
  
Vincent was horrified. He had to take these idiots to see Yuffie.  
  
It was slow going. One by one, they all died. Except Bob and Steve. "Boy, this is hard," said Bob. "Yeah," said Steve. They got to Yuffie's house. And Vincent shot them.  
  
***** ***** ***** *****  
*****  
  
Yuffie drummed her manicured nails on her table. For the last forty-five minutes, she and her father had sat there, watching Vincent lick his cape and ponder something deeply. When he came to, he looked about himself, realized what was going on, and asked:  
  
"Got anything else to drink?"  
  
"No," said Godo. "You emptied our fridge. You drank all our rainwater. You drank the koi pond, and the fish in it, too."  
  
"Oh. I am sorry."  
  
"I'm sure."  
  
"So . . ." said Yuffie tentatively, "why is it again that you're here? You said you came on a long journey?" Gawd, she thought, he's even more out of it than usual.  
  
Vincent's eyes shifted rapidly from side to side. Finally, he sighed deeply and announced, "Red was attacked by a Gi sympathizer. He was in the hospital for a day and can't remember anything about it. But he's up and about now. I just - thought you might like to know."  
  
"Oh," said Godo. "I'll send him a fruit basket."  
  
"No, that wouldn't be a good idea," said Vincent quickly. Yuffie cocked an eyebrow. "He was knocked out with a pineapple, you see. So whenever he catches sight of fruit, he goes temporarily insane and kills people."  
  
"That's so not cool," murmured Yuffie. "And that cheese is really stinking."  
  
"Yes," agreed Godo, "I think we need to get rid of that."  
  
Vincent realized that he was seriously stinking up the Kisaragi household with dead-body stench, so he rushed to the refrigerator, grabbed the cheese, and said, "Not to worry. Soon the smell shall be gone." Then he flew from the house, and roughly placed the cheese (and himself) in the Wutai River. He returned, dripping wet but nodding calmly.  
  
"Now it'll smell all right in this town."  
  
********** ************ **************** ***************** **************** *********  
  
Well, that's chapter one. Please R&R. Some perceptive readers might notice that it's a play on Mark Twain's "The Invalid's Story", where two guys think that the stench of some cheese is actually the stench of a decaying corpse - except I switched it around. That last line is actually, to a certain extent, a reference to the movie Yojimbo with Toshiro Mifune, when he says, "Now it'll be quiet in this town."  
  
I just realized that the evil fanfic that makes Vincent go on the quest in the story still hasn't appeared. Whoops. 


	2. Perspective is Everything

Four Feathers by DJ666  
  
Well, after getting all those fabulous reviews, I decided to write chappy number two. Vincent goes Bob-and-Steve on Yuffie's laptop. The quest begins. Godo's sumo diaper is missing. Read on.  
  
Content: Swearing, nudity, graphic depictions of graphic depictions of sex.  
  
Disclaimer: God smote me, but when He crushed me with His might fist He made me divine by accident; hence, THE WORLD IS MINE! THE WORLD IS MINE! BOW BEFORE ME OR KNOW DESTRUCTION!  
  
***** ***** ***** ***** *****  
  
Chapter Two: Perspective is Everything  
  
Vincent shook like Red XIII does right after he takes his daily dose of speed and sat down in a chair. "I hate to say it Yuffie, but your dwelling offers very little in the form of entertainment. I fear that I shall soon become another of the myriad victims of ennui." He put Death Penalty down on the table, undoing his headband and using it to clean the water out of the mechanisms of his firearm. "Do you have anything that I could do?" he asked.  
  
"Yeah, now that I think about it!" realized the ninja. "I just got a new laptop! Wireless internet and everything. It's soooooooooooooooooo kewl, it's like SUPER KEWL OF DOOM!!! C'mon Vinnie, I'll show ya!" She leapt onto the table, flipped over Vincent's head and sprinted into the living room.  
  
Amazing how fast that girl can run wearing nothing but a pair of sumo scarves wrapped around her body, thought Vincent. He followed, sighing with boredom, into the adjacent chamber.  
  
The shady rifleman was not exactly an up-and-coming technological entrepreneur. In fact, he could probably do about as much with a computer as one of the three little pigs could realistically do with bricks, lacking opposable thumbs as they are. Vincent stroke his chin, pondering, pondering: No wonder the Big Bad Wolf could blow their houses down so easily; the three little pigs were unable to effectively do masonry! Triumphant, he turned what attention he could spare to Yuffie.  
  
"It's a Microsoft Windows 1542087586428956, V23765.28379. It has 328496243582464389543543 gigabytes of RAM, and can process 384962305274562309873259726350953297562487504356974328065 methylchlorohydroxiomegabytes per attosecond. The wireless internet connects at 489634186943543219883297543986598432987365983476 kbps, and the inbox can hold up to 325944328659432059724365890243 emails without crashing. It has eighty-seven disc drives, can burn fifty CDs at once, comes equipped with a PS458729, an XBOX45849, a GCN34586359, and works by reading electrical impulses in user synapses. It also comes with a list of top fifty sites for every category in existence, and included a complimentary bag of crack."  
  
Vincent raised an eyebrow dubiously. "So, what does that mean it can accomplish?"  
  
"Practically nothing," the ninja admitted. She breathed. "But I love her. Especially the webcam that came with her." The ninja's eyes glazed over, and there was a strange kind of twitching in the lower section of her sumo suit.  
  
Vincent, at that concluding comment, swallowed hard and quickly ceased conversation. "Can I try it out?" he asked. "Sure," his hostess replied. "Just press the 'on' button, and think really hard about going online. It's easy."  
  
Vincent glanced dubiously at the computer. There was a grid of small knobs reading [ON BUTTONS 1956-4592]. The grid was several feet in diameter. Yuffie groaned, muttering something about how 'Vampy' was so useless, and proceeded to flip approximately eighty-one billion switches, turning on all the functions of the computer. She placed a large helmet on her guest's head.  
  
Vincent's head promptly exploded from information overload.  
  
Fortunately, Yuffie had gotten the programming package which included a head-putter-together, and catastrophe was belatedly averted. The ninja rubbed her old companion's head, pointing to the Internet icon and saying, "Just think about it, and it'll happen."  
  
Vincent thought about going on the Internet. The Internet opened up.  
  
Vincent's head exploded again.  
  
Several minutes (and one particularly interesting *implosion*) later, Vincent connected to the Internet. He was taken to Yuffie's designated home page, and from there found his fun bounding about the Web, taking care not to notice his hostess' 'Favorites' bar  
  
After directing Vincent's attention away from her multitudinous pornographic links, Yuffie decided to show her guest one of her minor discoveries on the Net. "Look at this - you know Google?" she said. Vincent eyed her warily: "That isn't another one of those sites with women that have pen - "  
  
"No!" shrieked Yuffie. "It's a search engine. It helps ya find stuff on the Web. I noticed something kewl - if you type in the name of our gang members, you'll get some really funny stuff!"  
  
"Oh," Vincent said. "It seems that celebrity is an unavoidable experience after saving the world from complete annihilation."  
  
"Yeah," said Yuffie. "Try it, it's fun!"  
  
There was a sudden crash, and a shrill cry of "YUFFIE". It sounded like Godo had broken something. "I'll be right back . . . who knows what he's doing now." She disappeared into the ceiling.  
  
Vincent, shrugging, typed two words into the text box with deliberate slowness:  
  
V I N C E N T V A L E N T I N E  
  
***** ***** ***** ***** *****  
  
Yuffie crept silently up the stairs, tentative and grasping her shuriken. She remembered quite well that the last time she'd heard that "YUFFIE" echoing down the stairs had signaled "that talk". Trust me, it's hard to keep a straight face as a hormonally-unbalanced fourteen-year-old whenever talking about sex. It's even harder when your parent is blissfully unaware of the fact that you were the star of Lolita Lesbians VII through CXII and managed to land the co-star role in Cum Fly Away: A Whole New Flock. In fact, Yuffie had hardly been able to sit still during the three hours, because her genital region was considerably itchy, raw and red, and not for want of a good reason; both her sets of lips were chapped beyond belief, and all the moisturizer in the world couldn't change the fact that she'd felt like someone had - well, like someone had stuck a hand or five into her.  
  
In any case, Yuffie was treading quietly upstairs, unsure of what horrors she would find . She could hear smashing, and heavy footsteps, very urgent, and mutterings. Maybe Godo was being held hostage by some crazed assassin and had been calling for aid. In which case, Yuffie should probably bring up some cookies as well. But she just didn't have the time, and things could deteriorate any second. The ninja opened the upstairs door, fearing that her father might be there, lying on the floor, naked and covered in blood. Shuddering, she leapt through the doorway, shouting, "TIME TO DIE, SCUM SUCKING SPAWN OF HELL!!!"  
  
What Yuffie found was far worse than she had imagined. There was no thief, or assassin, or anything else. There was no scum sucking spawn of hell. There was Godo, all right - and he was lying on the floor, but it wasn't blood all over him.  
  
"DAD, IS THAT YOUR JIZZUM??"  
  
Godo lifted his head from the floor. "Oh. Yuffie! You came. Well, actually, *I* was the one who came, but anyway. . ." He wiped his hand off on his thigh - something sticky and white smeared onto his leg-hairs. "You see, I was jacking off and didn't want to get my sumo diaper wet, so I took it off, and now I can't find it."  
  
"What made ya jizzle ya fashizzle nizzle, yo?" asked the young ninja. "And why in *my* room?"  
  
"Well, it was in here that I found these porno tapes. . ." Godo held up 'Licking Lolitas XIV'. " . . . and I was really horny, so I popped one in and got to work - or should I say, got to play? In any case, I can't find my sumo diaper. Wanna help me out?"  
  
"Dad," shrieked Yuffie, "Vinnie is here! You can't just go walking around naked! Here," she said, loathe to do this, "take *my* sumo thong for the time being." She slipped it off her body and held it out to her father. "Now come on, we hafta find that diaper!"  
  
***** ***** ***** ***** *****  
  
Vincent deleted his name and tried a few experiments first. "Cloud - " He licked his lips. " - Strife." He clicked the 'enter' button once. Three matches found; search took 4.15 seconds. "Tifa - Lockhart." 137,864 matches found; search took 0.98 seconds. "Yuffie - Kisaragi."  
  
214,312,468,943,532,459,869 matches found; search took .00000000000000001 seconds.  
  
Hmm, thought Vincent. Let's try again . . . This time, he typed in 'yuffie kisaragi' -xxx.  
  
0 matches found.  
  
Finally, he worked up his courage: Come on. Can't be so bad. Who even knows you exist? Your friends. That's it. Do it.  
  
"Vincent Valentine." His hands shook as he hovered on the 'enter' button. He barely depressed the switch as his mind said, "Go" to the interface.  
  
28 matches found; search took 1.22 seconds. Vincent glanced at the first one: something about fanfiction. Hmm, I have fans? Interesting . . . well, Chaos, time to meet the people.  
  
Ugh . . . people . . .  
  
It appeared to be some kind of text page; instantly, Vincent was assailed by fourteen popups (twelve of them were Yuffie in an extremely compromising position, with the proud words "Come fuck me LIVE!!" flashing above her . . . private property). He swatted them away like the innocent children in his steroid-massacre dream. Luv that dream. He saw the title at the top of the page: Hot Summer Nights, by iluvyuffentines something something.  
  
'Vincent sighed, greatly depressed. He was still atoning for his sins, lying prone in his coffee.'  
  
My coffee? thought Vincent. What the fuck was this asshole smoking when he banged this shit out of his keyboard?  
  
Looking around quickly, he said, "I mean, how terribly ungrammatical of him. It is truly a terrible thing when persons cannot even be expected to proofread their own documents on their computers." Sum peeple are so dum. The gunman continued reading:  
  
'I wish I had some company, thought Vincent. It's so dull just sleeping here, even though I need to reconcile myself with myself before I can do anything.'  
  
"My God!" yelled Vincent. "These people know everything about me!" He jumped from his chair and flew from the window - literally. His cape flapped in the wind as he spiraled through the air, twisting and turning like Neo in The Matrix: Reloaded. Hell, he even went so fast that there was a humongous tornado of cars following him around. In any case, he flew back to the Nibelheim mansion, grabbed his coffin, and put it in the observation room.  
  
"No cameras in HERE," said Vincent, satisfied. Then he flew back to Yuffie's house. In the course of the trip, he came to thinking about how he should have just taken Bob and Steve on his back and flown in the blink of an eye to Wutai instead of dragging them around on foot and eventually killing them.  
  
Oh, well.  
  
The rifleman leapt back into his chair before the computer and resumed his reading:  
  
'There was one person that Vincent wished could be around right now: Yuffie.'  
  
"What the hell?" said Vincent aloud. "Yuffie? This is insane! I refuse to be exposed to this tripe! These are downright LIES!" Then he shut up and kept reading.  
  
'Just thinking about her, the vampire felt his coffin suddenly become smaller, and much hotter. He couldn't take his mind off her smooth, sunbrowned skin; her fine ass; her perky tits and her tight pussy that he had wanted so much to - "  
  
"Ooooooooooooooooooookay," muttered Vincent. "I think I've had just about enough of this. This is an insult to my honor. Me? And Yuffie? Never. We're so different. She's sixteen, naïve, talkative, skinny, and extremely 'loose', as it were. I'm in my fifties, depressed, introverted, muscular, and unable to get a date, even if I tried. Besides, I could never get over - Lucretia . . ." But something kept Vincent glued to the computer, some morbid fascination with the idea of himself getting back into the game - and with a much younger partner, to boot. He kept reading:  
  
'By now Vincent was so uncomfortably hot that he had to push off the lid of his coffin and get some fresh air. With a single, powerful swipe of his arm, the heavy lid went flying across the room. "Geez, Vinnie!" said a voice. "You almost hit me with that thing!"  
  
'Vincent sat straight up to find the owner of the voice. He glanced quickly about the room and found, without much trouble, the girl he'd lusted after so much: Yuffie Kisaragi. "Yuffie?" the vampire asked, unsure of himself. "What are you doing here?"  
  
'The ninja was hesitant to reply. "It's just - I missed you. I need - to tell you something." She blushed. "I wanted to say - I never got to say - that - I love you!" Vincent leapt from his coffin in joy. "You do! That's - that's wonderful, because - I love you, too! I've wanted you so bad!"  
  
'"I've wanted you too - baaaaaaad," replied Yuffie. "In fact, since we both admitted it - could we . . ."  
  
'"Already?" asked Vincent, surprised.  
  
'"Not 'already'," said Yuffie. "I've wanted you for so long - this is nothing new. Come on. I want you - I really want you . . ." She reached into her pants and began masturbating her wet cunt.'  
  
'Masturbating her wet cunt'? thought Vincent. Is that even correct English? God, those fanfiction writers are idiots. He kept going, though; he was too far into it to pull himself out.  
  
'"Oh, God, Yuffie - you're right. I just wanna fuck you, hard, now!" Vincent tore off his shirt, revealing his well-muscled and hard body. He ran his fingers over the lines of his six-pack and pinched his nipples a bit. They were already hard in anticipation. He tossed his shirt to ground and reached to unbutton his pants, but Yuffie stopped him. "Do me first," she begged.  
  
'"I can't do you with Tiny Tim still trapped in my trousers, now, can I?" The horny young ninja shook her head. "I mean . . . I want you to take off my clothes before you get naked."  
  
'Vincent nodded. "Okay," he said, "but first I just need to get my weinis ready."'  
  
Did this kid just make me say 'weinis'? thought Vincent. Only a true master of idiocy could combine 'weiner' and 'penis' like that. The story continued:  
  
'The vampire grasped his tallywacker - '  
  
What is WRONG with this guy? thought Vincent.  
  
' - all thirteen inches - '  
  
The reader's eyes bulged to the size of Tifa Lockhart's melons.  
  
' - and started stroking the length of his shaft. Blood flowed into it, making it rise up. Yuffie finger-fucked herself even harder at this sight. She rushed over to him and said, "Please, Vinnie! Undress me, now!"  
  
'Vincent used his sharp teeth to rip the buttons of Yuffie's blouse, one by one, and used his nimble fingers to pull it off her shoulders. She was not wearing a bra, and she had goose-bumps on her tiny tits. Her nipples were erect with pleasure, so Vincent bent over and kissed them gently. He took the left one into his mouth and bit it gently, sucking on it like a baby. Then he planted slow kisses down her stomach until he reached the top of her pubic hair.  
  
'Yuffie pulled her hands out of her pants and guided Vincent's onto her crotch. He unzipped her shorts inch by inch, revealing more and more of her pink lace panties. She turned around suddenly, so as her pants dropped to the floor Vincent could see nothing but her thong escaping into the crack of her sweet, firm ass. He took her cheek into his hand and squeezed it, and the ninja let out a gasp of pleasure. Hooking his tongue behind her underwear, Vincent pulled the thong down her body until it reached her heels.'  
  
The real deal was sitting, stunned, at Yuffie's computer, feeling a curious melange of emotions.  
  
'Damn, I kick ass' was one.  
  
'THIRTEEN INCHES?' was another.  
  
'This is the grossest and stupidest thing I've ever read' was a third.  
  
'This is making me horny as hell' was the last.  
  
In any case, he kept reading.  
  
'Yuffie spun around again, and her vampire bitch - '  
  
Whoa! thought Vincent. If anyone is anybody's bitch, then Yuffie is mine. I am NOBODY'S bitch!  
  
' - put his face between her legs, licking the outside of her twat. He curled the little ringlets of her pubic hair around his fingers and pulled her closer to him. The ninja pressed her partner's face down deeper into her love hole, and he started licking the inside of her, penetrating her with his tongue. He could feel her vaginic muscles - '  
  
Vincent slapped his forehead. 'Vaginic'?  
  
' - contracting rapidly as he pushed her closer and closer to orgasm. Finally, she pushed him away. "Come on, Vinnie! I don't want it to end with just oral! Fuck me!" The vamp-ho threw aside his pants and grabbed Yuffie's shoulders, lifting her up and lowering her onto his throbbing member, pushing up into her tight twat. They gyrated their pelvises, thrusting into one another, both of them covered in blood and Yuffie's hymen broke within her. She stopped moving at the sudden pain and bit Vincent's shoulder.  
  
'"You okay?" the vampire asked, concerned for his partner. "Yeah," said Yuffie, "but my pussy really hurts now - can you just fuck my ass!"  
  
'"Okay!" the gunman said enthusiastically. He put the girl down on all fours facing away from him and started reaming her virgin asshole. "Oh God!" she yelled, masturbating her twat - "  
  
This guy and the masturbating the [insert body part here] again! thought Vincent.  
  
" - at the same time. Finally, Yuffie exploded, her love-juice spilling out her hole and landing on the ground. Vincent pulled himself out of her and went down, licking up her fluids as she came. "Oh, that was great, Vinnie - but you still haven't cummed!" she said.'  
  
This guy is a moron, thought Vincent once again.  
  
'The ninja twisted around and licked the poop off the vampire's thick - '  
  
Vincent read on in horror for only three lines before taking out the recently reloaded Death Penalty and turning the laptop into a smoking pile of [ON] buttons. Vincent's head exploded again, and came back together again. Then he rushed to the stairs.  
  
"Yuffie! YUFFIE!"  
  
***** ***** ***** ***** *****  
  
Yuffie was paying no attention. She was getting the shivers from walking around without anything covering her groin, and they still had yet to find Godo's sumo diaper. Godo was of no help - it was the first time he'd worn thong underwear, and he was finding it an extremely - 'interesting' experience.  
  
"This thing is crushing my nutsack!" he whined. "I guess it's a good thing I can't have any more kids, though," he admitted, glancing sidelong at Yuffie.  
  
"You know what, dad? You're an idiot! I wasn't a bad daughter, you were a bad father!" They were so caught up in the passion of their argument that they didn't hear the fifty gunshots or gargantuan explosion that emanated from the downstairs.  
  
"No, Yuffie, you WERE a bad daughter! You never obeyed me, no matter what I said or did!"  
  
"You're a wimp!"  
  
"You're a klepto-nympho BITCH!"  
  
"WELL YOU'RE A FUCKING IDIOT! THERE'S YOUR GODDAMN SUMO DIAPER, DIPSHIT!"  
  
The garment in question was underneath the 'Passionate Paul' masturbation doll that Yuffie had purchased for - questionable purposes. She reached over the mannequin to grab the article - and she noticed something within.  
  
"You keep fruit oil inside your sumo diaper? So that's why I can never hang on to you!"  
  
At that same moment, Godo was freeing his 'weinis' from the constricting female undergarment in preparation for the switch back to his regular clothing. He stood behind Yuffie, looking over her shoulder as she sighed in relief. "I *don't* suck at sumo!" she murmured.  
  
***** ***** ***** ***** *****  
  
At that instant, Vincent opened the upstairs door.  
  
At that instant, he saw Yuffie, kneeling on the floor, licking something tasty inside of Godo's sumo underwear and gasping in delight. At that instant, he saw Passionate Paul's Pleasure-Plush© Penis penetrating his young companion. At that instant, he saw Godo standing directly behind his moaning daughter, finger his schmuck out of his thong and barely touching it to his offspring's behind.  
  
At that instant, Vincent Valentine vomited everything he possibly could, and a bit more, before collapsing in agony. Death Penalty was clicking empty - in his last seconds before unconsciousness, he'd tried to shoot himself.  
  
***** ***** ***** *****  
*****  
  
I would like to thank Chris Perry for, as for as I know, inventing the term 'weinis'. It has yet to be copyrighted, so use it while you can.  
  
If Passionate Paul really exists, sorry to his creators for using him without permission.  
  
If there is a person with an email address like "iluvyuffentines", then sorry about making you the future victim of our protagonists.  
  
The quest still hasn't begun. D'OH! *smacks forehead* Review, damn it! REVIEEEEEW!!! 


	3. The Feathers Fly

Four Feathers by DJ666  
  
Chapter three is here. Vincent and Yuffie FINALLY get going. It's Hallo- frickin'-ween . . . belatedly. Cid hasn't gotten pissed off yet, so the Highwind can't be used. Looks like our heroes need some other form of transportation . . .  
  
Content: Swearing, violence.  
  
Disclaimer: Square is my bitch. I own Final Fantasy. Suck my thirteen-inch weinis.  
  
***** ***** ***** ***** *****  
  
Chapter Three: The Feathers Fly  
  
For the third time in his life, Vincent Valentine wanted to burn out his own eyes. The second time was when Bob and Steve had shown him Yuffie having sex with several midgets who, for their extraordinary amounts of disposal mayonnaise, must have worked at a fast-food place. The first time was when he saw Hojo doing the deed with Palmer. In any case, Vincent still had his eyes; it was his sanity that he was missing.  
  
Vincent was lying on the floor in a steaming pile of bitter bile (that's some rhythm, bizzatch!), unsure of his surroundings and feeling like his nuts were caught in his throat. He came to laggardly, opening his eyes tentatively.  
  
"Vinnie?" said a sweet, youthful voice with deliberate slowness. Yuffie's face (curiously inverted) swam into focus. In the beginning, there was nothing. And then God said, Let there be light. And there was light. And then Vincent saw Yuffie, and he remembered that which had taken place ere he passed into darkness, and he realized that the Good Book was really just one huge-ass run-on sentence. And then he hurled like a sonuvabitch again.  
  
"Oh, guh-ROSS-ness! Vinnie, you just hurled all over my feet! I just manicured my toes yesterday!"  
  
Vincent groaned. "What day was yesterday?"  
  
"October 30th," replied Yuffie.  
  
Vincent digested this information calmly. Then he realized two equally disturbing facts simultaneously:  
  
It was Halloween. Yippee!! When he had passed out, it had been JULY 19TH!  
  
Doing a super-kewl kung fu get-back-up flip thingie, Vincent regained his feet. He leapt around a few times and landed gently by Yuffie's side. There were Halloween decorations everywhere - skeletons and imps and demons and jack-o-lanterns and candy. Vincent, suddenly surrounded by bowls of sugary goodness, realized that he was exceptionally hungry.  
  
"Got anything to eat?" asked Vincent.  
  
"Not this again," groaned Yuffie.  
  
"Fine, fine," the vampire muttered darkly. Reaching into his back pocket, he grabbed a magazine of ammunition and replaced the spent one. He racked Death Penalty's bolt with some satisfaction, loving the feel of the smooth action. He pumped the first round into a nearby pumpkin. It exploded, showering Yuffie with yellow-orangish pumpkin guts and setting the girl off on a frenzied dance while she sang incessantly "EWGETITOFFGETITOFFEWEWEWWWWWW!!!!!". Feeling good, Vincent cracked his knuckles and walked into the kitchen.  
  
There were more candy containers. They were everywhere. Like cancerous polyps on Lance Armstrong's testicles. Godo was fretting over everything, rearranging bowls this way and that way, struggling to move in his costume.  
  
"Why did you dress like your daughter for Halloween?" asked Vincent, obviously disgusted. The fat wrestler was bustling about the kitchen in tight 'short-shorts', unbuttoned just like Yuffie's. The recently-awakened guest knew that the girl walked around with her pants partway open to make it clear to all men, women, children and midgets that she was easy. With Godo, it was more a matter of not being able to fit his protruding stomach into the garment. Alarmingly, his hairy belly was sticking out, as Yuffie's 'shirts' were all bare midriff.  
  
"I'm really comfortable like this," explained Godo. "I've always fantasized - "  
  
"Okay, that's enough," interrupted Vincent. "I don't want to hear about your mistaken-identity, transsexual, transvetital I-wish-I-had-a-vagina - "  
  
"You wish you had a vagina?" asked Yuffie, who had come into the kitchen just in time to catch the tail end of her companion's sentence. The vampire slapped his forehead. "I am NOT transsexual - "  
  
"OOOOOOOOOOOH," said Yuffie, realizing what he meant. "You're horny and you want a pussy to fu - "  
  
"NO!" shrieked Vincent, fearing what might come next if his hostess thought that he wanted some action. "No, you see, Yuffie - um, actually, I need to talk to you about that."  
  
"REEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEALLY?" asked the young ninja. "Well, please, step into my office. I call it 'the dungeon'." She opened a door that led down a dark stairwell. "Aherm. STEP into my office." Vincent didn't move.  
  
"STEP, GODDAMNIT!!"  
  
The vampire cocked his weapon before venturing down the stairs. It was dimly lit passage, which opened into a larger room filled with - instruments.  
  
Chains hanging from the walls. Chairs with shackles. A rack holding dozens of long, multicolored cylindrical objects with various - embellishments. A few whips dotted the room. There was a cabinet, in whose open door one could see a few bottles - 'Pineapple Exxxtasy' and what may have been 'Luscious Lisa's Love Lube' (sixty-nine ounces for hours of fun!).  
  
Vincent stepped gingerly through the maze of erotic implements, Death Penalty at the ready lest its master be suddenly assaulted by horny midgets with anal lubricants and thirteen-inch plastic weinises. The vampire leapt nimbly over the moaning donkey stabled beneath the Chinese love swing and was stopped abruptly by Yuffie.  
  
She laid back across a table, simultaneously putting on some Marvin Gaye and handing her guest a glass of wine. "Chardonnay?" she asked innocently.  
  
"I saw you slip the drugs into it, Yuffie."  
  
"DAMN IT!" she yelled. "I'll have to call Phil instead."  
  
"Who is this Phil of which you speak?" asked Vincent.  
  
"You'd like him. He's a lot of fun. He's a midget, actually - "  
  
"My, how fantastic!" said the vampire, his voice unnaturally high and nervous. He quickly changed the subject: "Um, Yuffie - I - uh - it's about your computer."  
  
"The one that you shot up before you passed out? It's okay. I got a new one for free. It was under warrantee."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"Yeah. Who'da thunk that Microsoft has a 'Wanton Destruction by the Criminally Insane Vampirically Afflicted' policy?"  
  
"My, that is handy," answered Vincent. "Anyway - you probably want to know *why* I destroyed it, huh?"  
  
"The thought had crossed my mind, yes."  
  
"Well, you see, I did what you said. You said that if I typed in my name on Google, then I could find some, quote, "cool stuff". What I found was a graphic description of you, engaged in perverted sexual activities."  
  
Yuffie just stared at Vincent. She blinked. Twice. Thrice in rapid succession. Then she frowned and asked, "Is there more to this story?"  
  
"Um, it was you, engaged in perverted sexual activities."  
  
Silence.  
  
"With me."  
  
Yuffie spewed her drugged wine all over Vincent's face, mercifully covering up the fact that he was blushing heavily - by which, of course, I mean that you couldn't have seen it without an electron microscope that could tell how embarrassed the divisions of subatomic particles are. The surprised ninja, glad to have sprayed her beverage all over her friend's face rather than choking on it, leapt to her feet and shrieked, in a statement of truly remarkable diction:  
  
"GROSSNESS!"  
  
"Yes, that's something akin to my own reaction. This is quite a blow to both my honor and my stomach, so I have decided to do two things:  
  
"Well, I had first intended to get you a new computer, but you seem to have taken care of that. So, my second point is to KILL THE PERSON WHO DARED TO WRITE THAT STORY."  
  
"Whoa. Um, Vinnie? I think that brutal, execution-style shooting is NOT the way to go about this. Maybe we should just like, email the kid?"  
  
"No. He/she/it must die." Vincent cocked Death Penalty for effect. "Die like the dog he/she/it is. You shall see the horror, this - ABOMINATION that iluvyuffentines has created. Come with me! I shall show you! SWOOSH!" And Vincent disappeared in a scarlet flash of cape.  
  
Gawd, I hate it when he does that, thought Yuffie. I better catch up to him before he starts blowing up what remains of my belongings.  
  
***** ***** ***** ***** *****  
  
Vincent sat down at the computer, thankful that there was no neural interface that would threaten to destroy his head if he did something wrong. He turned on the thing like a man possessed, for possessed he was - by anger, by dishonor, by shock, and by blood lust. And also by a bunch of freakish monsters that occasionally took over his body and made him go on gargantuan rampages that involved 'roid-enraged razings of rural communities like Frankenstein's monster on crack. In any case, the vampire flicked [ON BUTTONS 0-128960324] in the blink of an eye. He was instantly online, and this time he had a new name for Google:  
  
I L U V Y U F F E N T I N E S  
  
Yuffie had caught up, and was now glancing over her companion's shoulder. "I love Yuffentines? What's a Yuffentine?"  
  
Vincent, grim as he could be, replied. "Yuffie plus Valentine."  
  
"EEEEWWWWWWWWWWWWW," said the ninja, unfortunately comprehending the nomenclature. "Look at what you found - fanfiction?"  
  
"Yes - I remember this. Truly a terrible thing. It matters not where we click - everything by this creature is an abomination. Go ahead." Vincent turned away from the screen. "Read."  
  
DING-DONG!!  
  
"What could that be?" wondered the vampire aloud.  
  
"It's HALLOWEEN, numbnuts. That's kids who want candy!" Yuffie stood up and grabbed a nearby bowl of candy, but Vincent grabbed her arm and sat her back down. "I shall do this thing," he insisted gravely. "You must partake of the agony that is - PWP fanfiction."  
  
"PWP?"  
  
Vincent's eyes glazed over: "PWP . . . porn . . . without . . . plot."  
  
GASP!!  
  
"Yes, I know. But you must read, and I must give candy to these annoying children. By my troth, I am off!"  
  
Vincent opened Yuffie's door, finding himself face to face with two toddlers. One was dressed like Barney. The other one was a clown.  
  
"TRICK OR TREAT!" they shouted happily. "Can we have some candy, mister?"  
  
"Here," Vincent said, dropping something small into each child's bag.  
  
"Whaddizzit?" asked one kid.  
  
"A condom," replied Vincent. "If you are stupid enough to engage in this moronic parasitic pastime of stealing my companion's honestly-bought, tooth- rotting, artery-clogging, Godo-killing balls of condensed sugar, you are unworthy of the privilege of polluting the purity of the human gene pool with your deleterious hereditary faculties."  
  
The toddlers stared, completely uncomprehending of Vincent's gargantuan vocabulary.  
  
"I can say 'pantyhose' in Spanish," said one. He caught a faceful of door as the vampiric Halloween host at the Kisaragi house became far to fed up with his generation to care about anything anymore. The pair of trick-or- treaters hurried back to their mother, their eyes filled with terror.  
  
"That man was scary!" said the smaller boy. "He WAS!" agreed Mommy, who had gotten chills just watching the man from afar. The third member of the trio just trembled, his eyes bulging out of their sockets. In a fragmented, nervous voice, he said, "Pantimedias."  
  
Vincent returned to Yuffie's side. "Have you read that thing yet?"  
  
"No - Godo stopped by with a problem in his shorts."  
  
"Well, get back to - "  
  
DING-DONG!!  
  
"TRICK OR TREAT!" shouted four children. They were two boys and two girls - the females were fairies and, by the looks of it, the males would turn out to be before long. Vincent dropped a Snickers bar into the bag of each child, and made to close the door before one child stopped him.  
  
"I can't have Snickers!" she said. "I'm allergic to nuts!"  
  
Vincent stared.  
  
"Snickers have peanuts!"  
  
"Peanuts aren't nuts. They're legumes," replied the vampire with a brisk swish of the cape. He returned swiftly to the computer and asked: "Have - "  
  
DING-DONG!!  
  
"I'll be back." Vincent stood up and opened the door. Older children now, one dressed as Michael Myers from the Halloween movies and the other as The Bride from Kill Bill. The old Goth gunslinger tossed Almond Joys at the faces.  
  
"Hey, man, I HATE coconut!"  
  
"Then just eat the almond. That's the joyful part anyway." SLAM.  
  
DING-DONG!!  
  
Vincent opened the door and tried to hurl out a pair of Fruit-by-the-Foot snacks, but these kids were teens - one got his hockey stick into the door before it could be closed.  
  
"Dude, these things are for little kids! Haven't you got chocolate?"  
  
"You know, if I were to jam half of that wad of crap down your throat, you could use the remaining eighteen inches to ostensibly remove it from your obstructed trachea before you black out and die. I'd say that's a hell of a lot better than having the last thing in your throat before you die be a long black cylinder called a Ding-Dong." SLAM.  
  
Just as Vincent was turning away from the door, there was another DING- DONG!!. Instead of actually getting pissed off by the trick-or-treaters, he just took a chance and emptied a magazine through the door without so much as glancing in the direction of his target. Satisfied, he -  
  
DING-DONG!!  
  
***** ***** ***** ***** *****  
  
Timmy Tupesky nearly peed his pants when the door to the Kisaragi house opened up. He glanced meekly upwards into the face of the demon who standing above him. Timmy instantly developed an unfortunately severe stutter.  
  
"T- t-t-t-t -t -t t- t-t"  
  
The beast grunted. It was confused and impatient.  
  
"Trrri-ritr-rtit-trriii-triri-tiriri-ttr"  
  
The devil roared, flames spurting from its nostrils.  
  
"Trick - er - or - um - tree - treat?"  
  
Chaos roared. Then it got an idea.  
  
***** ***** ***** ***** *****  
  
Joey Johnston was considerably obfuscated as he tentatively approached the Kisaragi house.  
  
There was a sign that said 'TRICK OR TREAT' in big letters, with the word 'TREAT' circled. There were a bunch of steaming hot, spiced cuts of meat splayed out on a grill with a sign proudly displaying an arrow next to the command 'EAT'. Joey strode cautiously to the grill and found that there were small kabob skewers to pick up the min-steaks. He speared a chunk on a skewer and took a hearty nibble.  
  
"Mmm! Tasty!"  
  
He turned back to the road and walked away happily.  
  
Chaos, crouching behind the 'EAT' sign, rubbed his hands together and chuckled deviously. "Bwa ha ha . . . if they only knew . . ."  
  
Joey wondered where Timmy was. He should have been out tonight! But then again, maybe he was still bedridden since Joey had jammed a diamond- encrusted safety pin into his left buttock.  
  
"Ouch!" said Joey. What was this in his meat?  
  
"How dangerous! A diamond-encrusted safety pin!"  
  
Chaos laughed:  
  
"BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAA!!!!!"  
  
***** ***** ***** ***** *****  
  
"Damn, Vinnie, you kick ASS!"  
  
Yuffie was actually talking to the screen of her computer. She was reading one of the stories that her friend had pointed out, but for the time being all she had discovered was that he could seduce over five hundred women at a time and do them all at lightning speed thanks to the wonders of a thirteen-inch love stick.  
  
Then SHE made an entrance.  
  
"Oh my gawd . . ."  
  
"Oh my GAWD."  
  
"OH MY GAWD!!!!!!!!!!"  
  
Vincent returned to his hostess' side just in time to see the computer exploding into a thousand tiny pieces of plastic and green silicon. The ninja flew backwards several feet, her hair standing up on end.  
  
"Believe it or not - I've never done THAT before."  
  
The vampire's eyes went wide. "Please - for the love of God, don't tell me."  
  
"Too - terrible - to - say . . ."  
  
Yuffie turned to face her companion. "Vinnie? You were right. Iluvyuffentines must die."  
  
"Yeah," agreed Vincent. He held out Death Penalty, turned sideways. "GANGSTA STYLE, FOO!"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Nothing."  
  
There was a sudden explosion outside the house. Several hundred more followed it.  
  
"What was THAT, Vinnie?"  
  
"I don't know - but when Chaos let go, I woke up with a bunch of black powder burns and some copper wire, so I think I might have mined your front lawn to get rid of trick-or-treaters."  
  
Yuffie slapped her forehead in exasperation.  
  
***** ***** ***** ***** *****  
  
"So, how do we get to iluvyuffentines?" asked Yuffie. "Should we call Cid and take the Highwind?"  
  
"No, that wouldn't fly (he he . . . PUN!). Cid has hated you since you did Shera and the entire engineering team in the cockpit and got 'fluid' all over the radar, which resulted in him slamming his beloved vessel into the old Shinra headquarters." Vincent stroked his chin thoughtfully. "We should take a bus."  
  
"A bus?"  
  
"Yes - there's the Wutai Bus Station just nearby."  
  
"Really?" queried the ninja. She looked out the window. The building next door had a gargantuan sign reading 'WUTAI BUS STATION'. (Underneath that, it said 'IF YOU CAN'T GET A HUMONGOUS JETPROPELLED BLIMP TO FLY YOU AROUND ON YOUR VIGILANTE REVENGE MISSIONS, WE'RE ALWAYS HERE!!'). "Wow . . . in sixteen years of residence, I have never noticed the bus station next to my house."  
  
"Amazing, isn't it?" Vincent opened the door. "Ready to go?"  
  
Yuffie nodded. "Totally! Let's blow this bitch!" She made to jump out the door, but her companion caught her.  
  
"We must tread carefully - the mines are still here." The vampire narrowed his eyes. "I must use my super-sharp undead senses to locate the mines and safely lead you through." He gingerly took a single step out -  
  
GIZZIGABAZZOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!!!!!  
  
"Smooth moves, Vampy."  
  
"Shut up."  
  
Without further ado, the pair made their jolly way to the bus station. They met the midnight attendant inside: Dashka the Vodka-er.  
  
"Hill-o, freents! I am Daksha. You neet boss, yays?"  
  
"Uh, yeah," said Vincent. "We need a bus to take us a LONG way. All the way to sweet, sweet Vengeanceville."  
  
"Vill, vee hoff only vun boss lift."  
  
"You don't mean - "  
  
"Yays. Boss 19: Da Veedowmaker."  
  
GASP! Bus 19: The WIDOWMAKER!!  
  
"Da Veedowmaker?" asked Yuffie, confused.  
  
"Yays," answered Dashka. "Da Veedowmaker. Doorink da Vootai-Meetgar Vor, dare vas a sheepmint off plutonium beink smockled to Meetgar. It vas ittecked by da greetist worrior off Vootai - Joe Musashi."  
  
Yuffie gasped. "The dude from the original Shinobi game!"  
  
"Yays, icksacktly. Een hees blut lust, Musashi slaughtered eentire passenger populetion. He also ocksidently heet plutonium, inceenerating everytink. But icksplosion vas contend inside off shell med from coagulated blut. Da boss was renamed Boss 19, but ghost continue to haunt. Ploos, no driver vont to drive boss. Every vun is now sterile, even though they hoff three penis. Is mystery of vorld. Anyvay, you vont boss?"  
  
"Yes, Dashka. We will take Bus 19. We will not fail!"  
  
"Grit Herrison Fort eempression!"  
  
"Thanks . . . Yuffie, let's go!"  
  
"Wait!" cried the ninja. "It's bad luck to take a radioactive, haunted bus on a mission of revenge without a talisman! We need magical amulets."  
  
"Heer!" said Dashka. "Tek feethers!"  
  
"Good idea," admitted Vincent. He took the two plumes and stuck one into his scarf. The other he stuck into the folds of his young companion's hair. "Off we go," he said. "Us, the two feathers."  
  
"Kewlness!" shouted Yuffie. "Off we go!"  
  
***** *****************************  
  
Chapter three is done, and the quest is on . . . kind of. In case you wanted to know, Dashka the Vodka-er is the same Russian dropship guy from Mechwarrior 4: Mercenaries. If you needed the translation from 'drunk Russian speech':  
  
"Hello, friends! I am Dashka. You need bus, yes?" "Well, we have only one bus left." "Yes. Bus 19: The Widowmaker." "Yes, the Widowmaker. During the Wutai-Midgar War, there was a shipment of plutonium being smuggled to Midgar. It was attacked by the greatest warrior of Wutai - Joe Musashi." (!!!) "Yes, exactly. In his blood lust, Musashi slaughtered entire passenger population. He also accidentally hit plutonium, incinerating everything. But explosion was contained inside of shell made from coagulated blood. The bus was renamed Bus 19, but ghost continue to haunt. Plus, no driver want to drive bus. Everyone is now sterile, even though they have three penis. Is mystery of world. Anyway, you want bus?" "Great Harrison Ford impression!" "Here! Take feathers!"  
  
I hope everyone got the Bus 19 joke (K-19, the submarine; Bus 19, the bus).  
  
Wait a minute - they don't even know where iluvyuffentines lives, anyway . . .  
  
D'OH! 


	4. It's Not Pot, It's a Fog Machine!

Four Feathers by DJ666  
  
Never fear. Chapter four is here. My reviews OUTNUMBER my chappies? GASP! The quest has ACTUALLY begun! *dances like a maniac* So, what awaits our heroes? A new computer? Some help from the Turks? A little mishap in the sauna (he he he.)? Why don't you R&R and find out!!  
  
Content: Swearing, violence, drug use, some American Pie-style habits.  
  
Disclaimer: Check the newspaper. There's this story: MASSACRE AT SQUARE HEADQUARTERS LEAVES DJ666 SOLE OWNER OF FINAL FANTASY FRANCHISE.  
  
***** ***** ***** ***** *****  
  
Chapter Four:  
  
"I just realized that we have no idea where the hell iluvyuffentines lives," announced Yuffie.  
  
"We don't?" asked Vincent.  
  
"Yeah. Check the author's notes for chapter three, dumbass."  
  
"Touché."  
  
"You're stupid," said The Three.  
  
The Three were the two bus monitors and the driver: Jody, Tony and Gina. Jody was some sort of strange blob-creature in minishorts. Tony was a fifty- year-old man who had been accidentally spliced with frog DNA a la 'The Fly', except now instead of compound eyes he just had gimongous bulging ones and a nasty tendency to eat insects. Gina had appeared normal until she tried to bone Yuffie, Vincent and Tony simultaneously - and, for a terrifying instant, succeeded. In any case, they all spoke at the same time, as one strange super-creature of doom.  
  
"We're stupid?" repeated Vincent. "Then what do you suggest we do, oh knower of the infinite?"  
  
"Talk to the Turks," said The Three.  
  
"Oh." The vampire blinked.  
  
"Damn you. That's the best idea I've heard today." Vincent pulled out a cell phone and popped it open, dialing fourteen digits in one second without glancing at the keypad even once. Yuffie's mouth dropped open as her companion managed to contact as number, bypass the filter, dig under the firewall, bounce around four redirective satellites and erase the caller ID program - without paying attention to what he was doing. The Three nodded, pleased.  
  
"Hello, Reno. How are you? Fine, fine. Well, I need a favor. I need you to locate someone. No, I know EXACTLY where I am, thank you very much. How do you know about that, that was before you were even born! Tseng? Put him on!" Vincent's eyes flashed a brilliant red for the slightest instant. "Tseng? Yeah. You told him about - wh - but - so THAT'S what was in my - is that even possible? Vaseline and engine grease? Well, I'll be damned . . . aherm, uh, Tseng, I need a favor. No, Tseng. If I needed that kind of favor, I could just go cruising around in my Porsche in the Sector 2 Slums. What I need is for you to find me someone - yeah, that's not correct grammar, but seriously, I'm desperate. Whatever. All I have is an email address. Yeah - no - shut UP, would you? It's iluvyuffentines. The host server? I'm not sure - I think fanfiction - .net or .com. Try both. Huh? Fan, f-a-n, fiction. Like a story. It's a long story. Well, I'm not. Can you find him - her - it? Good. Meet you - the - oh, HELL no. Jesus, fine. Bye." BEEP.  
  
Vincent turned to Yuffie. "They're working on it. It's going to take a little time, because Rude just got a new hobby."  
  
"What is it?" inquired the young ninja.  
  
"I'm not sure, but I think I heard the words 'corset' and 'nipple clamps' in the background."  
  
Yuffie drooled like a starved chief of Texas police with a car broken down on a 100 degree day in front of a Dunkin' Donuts shop. Vincent plowed on: "We need to meet them in Midgar. They want to talk at their new headquarters in Sector Two. It would take us about - " The vampire counted off on his fingers. " - eight seconds by air, but since Cid won't help us it's - " Forefinger, middle finger, ring finger, pinkie. " - eight weeks or so."  
  
His companion groaned. The Three glowed a brilliant green. Vincent looked at Gina, the driver.  
  
"Well, STEP ON IT!"  
  
***** ***** ***** ***** *****  
  
Tseng slowly replaced the receiver. "Rude, you have the name? Rude?"  
  
"He's busy," supplied Reno helpfully.  
  
"ELENA!"  
  
"She's busy too," said Reno.  
  
"And let me guess - the nipple clamps are busy as well?"  
  
"Remarkably perceptive of you, sir."  
  
"Perhaps you'd be so kind as to turn on the electricity once again?"  
  
"Voltage?"  
  
"Lower than regular torture level - low enough to be nonfatal. But - high enough to sting like a sonuvabitch."  
  
"Aye aye, captain!"  
  
BIZZZIZIIZBIBZIZBIZBIZBIZBZIBZIBZIBZIBZIKZIZBIZIZBIZBZIBZIBZIZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ ZZZZZZ!!!!!!!!!  
  
"Son of a BITCH!" snarled Rude.  
  
"Stang like a sonuvabitch. Just like you asked, Tseng."  
  
"Marvelous. Remind me to dock your pay again."  
  
"WHAT?"  
  
"Misappropriation of funds. Think of all the money we're wasting on the electricity you just used to shock poor Rude there."  
  
"Bastard."  
  
"Yes, yes, now Rude?"  
  
"Tseng?"  
  
"The address. Iluvyuffentines@fanfiction.net or .com. Understood?"  
  
"Yes, sir." Rude strode purposefully from the room, discreetly massaging his groin. Elena followed him - slightly too close for comfort. Her partner bade her drop back, and she acquiesced to the request mournfully - but stole just the tiniest grope of butt-cheek as she did.  
  
Rude sat down on a pillow in front of his computer, logged on swiftly and double-clicked the 'FidoPlus' icon. He selected the menu, "Yeah, uh-huh, email, iluvyuffentines@fanfiction.com. Beautiful." He had the bastard in his sights. "Yep - and we have . . ."  
  
Bloop.  
  
"Nothing?" Rude was aghast. "We have NOTHING on this guy?"  
  
"Is there a problem, Rude?"  
  
The man jumped around to find Tseng standing over him, thin fingers pressed together malevolently.  
  
"Once again, is there a problem?"  
  
"No, no sir," stumbled Rude.  
  
"You have no information on this person, I see. That would be a problem."  
  
"No, sir - I mean, yes sir."  
  
"Cigar, Rude?"  
  
"Sure. I mean - what?"  
  
"It's just a cigar."  
  
"With you, nothing is 'just' whatever."  
  
"It's just a cigar."  
  
"Fine, then." Rude warily reached for a cigar. Using his knife, he messily removed the end. He placed it in his teeth and asked, tentatively, "Got a light?"  
  
"It's just a cigar."  
  
"I know, I need a match to - "  
  
"It's just a cigar."  
  
"Tseng, are you all right?"  
  
"It's just a cigar."  
  
"Are you stoned?"  
  
"It's just a cigar."  
  
Rude sniffed the death-stick protruding clutched between his mandible and maxilla. "This has hashish in it, doesn't it?"  
  
"It's just a cigar."  
  
"You have no idea what the hell's going on, do you?"  
  
"The mumakil destroy everything in their path! You must stop them before they reach Eowyn and Merry!"  
  
"Tseng?"  
  
"Defeat them all or we are lost!"  
  
"Dude, are you okay?"  
  
"You know their weakness! Use it!"  
  
"Um - uh . . ."  
  
"I have a token I was bidden to show thee."  
  
"You got an advanced copy of Return of the King, didn't you, you pot- puffing, cigar-smoking sadistic son of a BITCH."  
  
Tseng began laughing uncontrollably. "The mists swirl here as well! Return to your master, creatures of shadow!"  
  
"SHUT UP, TSENG!"  
  
"A balrog! A demon of the ancient world! THIS IS A FOE BEYOND ANY OF YOU. RUN!!"  
  
Rude collected his computer in his arms and fled from the room in terror. Tseng shot balls of fire from his staff, cackling with glee and proclaiming that he was a servant of the secret fire and a wielder of the Flame of Anor.  
  
***** ***** ***** ***** *****  
  
Rude sat down in his room, plugged in the computer, locked the door, and set his life-sized cardboard cutout of Legolas before it. Feeling sufficiently safe, he tried again.  
  
Iluvyuffentines@fanfiction. . . OH, fanfiction.NET. I'm an IDIOT. Punching in the new address, Rude came up with -  
  
Bloop.  
  
"NOTHING?"  
  
"That would be a problem, huh Rude?"  
  
Rude spun about, gun clutched in hand, to find Tseng standing behind him, a flaming brand in one hand and a headless piece of cardboard in the other.  
  
"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO LEGOLAS??? HOW DID YOU DEFEAT HIM???"  
  
"I am Gandalf the *White*," Tseng explained. "And I come back to you now at the turn of the tide."  
  
***** ***** ***** *****  
  
Vincent's phone rang, breaking the semi-silence on Bus 19 (the Widowmaker). It drowned out the faint humming being emitted from The Three's collective butt. The vampire narrowed his eyes and opened his cell.  
  
"It's me," he said. "Rude? What's going on? The Paths of the Dead? Haradrim? What the hell - oh. Tseng got into the hashish again, didn't he. Thought so. Anyway, what did you find? NOTHING? Well, hell, I'm not going to go defending the gates of Minas Tirith just to find out where some moron lives. What? That's your location? Fine. . . bye." Beep.  
  
"Is there a problem?" asked Yuffie.  
  
"After a manner of speaking. All we know about the Abomination's progenitor is that he/she/it lives in the Sector Three Slums. The Turks are working on narrowing it down, and Rude claims that we should still come to meet them as planned." Vincent checked the action on Death Penalty. "We're going to have to go beneath the Plate to find him/her/it."  
  
"Creepy," muttered Yuffie. "I've been in those Slums once before. They were so weird - neon lights EVERYWHERE. And all the guys talked really weird."  
  
"Yes, that's the - " The vampire swallowed hard. " - alternative lifestyle slum."  
  
GASP!  
  
The Three hummed loudly in alarm, filling the bus with their glow - their neon-green glow.  
  
"You live in the Slums, don't you!" shouted Yuffie, pointing the Great and Mighty Accusative Finger of Eternal Shame. "You have to help us!"  
  
"We know of the one of which you speak," they announced, "but we know not where it lives. You must seek a very powerful man - a man named 'The Merovingian'."  
  
"Why must we seek the Merovingian?" queried Vincent.  
  
"Because his wife is wicked hot, and the Merovingian will not suffer any other man to touch her. Therefore, she gets off by masturbating to Yuffentines. She commissioned this - thing, to create a Yuffentine so mighty and terrible that she would have the fabled 'multiple orgasm' from just from reading it!"  
  
GASP 2!  
  
"Yes . . . and this was done. This is what you unwittingly partook of. And this is the thing that you must destroy."  
  
The Three looked at Yuffie sadly. "We will help you bear this burden, Yuffie - as long as it is yours to bear."  
  
"Hey, I thought this was Vincent's quest!"  
  
The Three looked at each other, their eyes shifting back and forth. Then Jody looked at Gina and screamed, "She stumbled upon the boundary of knowledge! RUUUUUUUUUN!!!" They fled, Tony clinging to the ceiling with the pads on his feet and crawling out the window.  
  
"Well - that was weird."  
  
"Indeed," agreed Vincent. He sat himself delicately in the driver's seat and stomped on the gas pedal, sending Yuffie slamming into the back of the bus. "YUFFIE!" he screamed.  
  
"YEAH?" she shouted back.  
  
"I'M GONNA GO REALLY FAST NOW!"  
  
"THANKS FOR THE WARNING! Oh, MAN - "  
  
Luckily, they were going too fast for Yuffie's vomit to actually leave her throat. In the end, it just wound up back where it began its journey.  
  
***** ***** ***** ***** *****  
  
It was hard going. Vincent drove fast enough for them to cross the entire ocean in four minutes with only a single run-in with Emerald WEAPON (which ended in an extremely intricate and considerably grotesque ritual by which Ruberald WEAPON was created . . . GROSSNESS!!). After that, Yuffie took over and brought them from Neo-Midgar to, by some curious chance of geography, the Northern Crater, from which the two had to hitch a free ride on a tourist plane by claiming that the silent, aloof vampire was in fact suffering from date rape psychosis, at which point he just bloodily smote everyone and stole their jet, using the explosion from Bus 19 (THE WIDOWMAKER!!)'s badly-made Soviet fission reactor as a screen while the pair of vengeful victims escaped the fray. With a vehicle that ran on good ol' diesel fuel, Vinnie and the Yuffster (a nickname the vampire had given the ninja in cold-blooded vengeance for his own alias) made record time to the biggest city on - uh, whatever the hell planet this is. ('The Planet'. Great name, dipscrew. Jeez.)  
  
Soon, the two had found their way to Turks headquarters in Sector 2. It was a fantastic building, one truly magnificent and breathtaking.  
  
Oh, who the fuck am I kidding. It was a goddamn shanty, for shit's sake. It was like a fricking gnome hovel from the game Majesty. Hobos had lived there before the Turks. Then they had been wiped out, and their bones were used to make the shanty mightier and more terrible than ever before. In fact, the door looked the entrance to - the Paths of the Dead?  
  
Yeah, Tseng had gotten high and gone pretty insane one day with the decorations and started carving some skulls into the walls. Some people say that he was insane from being kept away from his fave Goth gunslinger for so long. The Turks would say that he was just really damn high. Nobody knows - not even Tseng. He was just too damn high to remember anything at all. He woke up covered in blood and bones, not knowing where he was or what was burning a hole in his pocket - literally. (Later, he discovered that it was a cigar of hashish. Betcha didn't see THAT one coming, didja!)  
  
Anyway, the shanty of death was inhabited by basically five people: Reno, Rude, Elena, Tseng, and some dude on a perpetual acid trip who was looking for the 'Stone of Erech'. Nobody had the heart to kick him out. Or the guts, considering that he had humongous sword that occasionally shot flaming wraiths at people and glowed redly with the light of the Sun. (Yes, Tolkien said that. No, 'redly' is not a real word. And yes, in the video game Anduril DOES shoot flaming wraiths at people.)  
  
The sauna constituted almost all of the shanty. It was a big hole in the ground, lined with rocks and filled with hot water. Then Tseng just stuck a battery-powered fog machine in the shanty, and voila! It looked like a flooded crapshack filled with pot-smoking hoboes.  
  
And there sat Vincent, Yuffie, Tseng, Reno, Rude, and Elena, all dressed in nothing but towels. Vincent, with his super-sharp undead reflexes, realized that there was a hobo somewhere there too, but he would have to wait on that.  
  
There was a sudden snapping of a twig, and Vincent flew threw the air, gun blazing, shouting, "DIE, INTOXICATED MINIONS OF THE DEVIL!" A body slumped to the floor.  
  
Elena turned off the fog machine. Once the whiteness dissipated, the room was considerably loud. Yuffie yelled; Tseng shouted; Reno shouted; Rude shouted; Vincent glared like a banshee; Elena hit a note several octaves higher than falsetto.  
  
"KYLE!" she shrieked.  
  
"Kyle?" asked everyone else.  
  
"He's the muffin man."  
  
Everyone turned to stare at Tseng. "What?" Reno queried.  
  
"You see, I have a certain - desire. A taste. Some people might call it a 'fetish'."  
  
"You fuck with muffins, don't you, you sick son of a bitch." Vincent shook his head. "I'm so disappointed in you. You were supposed to be protégé."  
  
"Well, what was I supposed to do, MUFFIN?"  
  
Everyone's eyes snapped wide open. Tseng has the hots for Vinnie!  
  
GASP!  
  
"Just get on with the muffin man story. I'm ashamed enough for the both of us," said the vampiric gunslinger.  
  
"Well," said Tseng, "I have this - interesting hobby - which involves muffins. So I hire a muffin man to deliver them to me every day."  
  
"Now, Elena . . ." began Rude, his tone irksome, "do you - KNOW, the muffin man?"  
  
"The muffin man?" she asked innocently.  
  
"THE MUFFIN MAN!" exploded the other.  
  
"Yes, I know the muffin man. He lives on Drury Lane."  
  
"And you slept with the muffin man?"  
  
"THE MUFFIN MAN?"  
  
"THE MUFFIN MAN! YOU SLEPT WITH THE MUFFIN MAN AT HIS HOUSE ON DRURY LANE, YOU CHEATING BITCH!" Rude clutched his head in his hands and sobbed. Tseng was lamenting the fact that he now needed to put on clothes to get his muffins. Elena held the corpse of her lover close to her bosom and wept for him.  
  
Let's have a moment of silence for Kyle, the muffin man. Kyle, we hardly knew ye. But, goddamnit man, you screwed with Rude's woman. You shoulda known that some Turk would blast your head off for it. You one stupid foo.  
  
Returning to the meeting, Yuffie and the Turks sat themselves back in the pit and turned the fog machine back on (Setting: Hobo Drug Shanty). Rude had a stack of papers in his hands.  
  
"We ran a search on the name you gave us. We have no idea where this person lives, but we do know its true name - "  
  
Everyone waited with bated breath.  
  
" - the abomination is called JIM."  
  
GASPx2!  
  
"We also know that its latest creation was one written *in memoriam*. The thing is in mourning for its two friends, who were lost several months ago on a long journey to Wutai. Their names were - "  
  
Bob and Steve! Vincent cursed mentally.  
  
"Yes," Rude said. "How did you know?"  
  
"I said that out loud?"  
  
There was one of those long, awkward silences - you know what I'm talking about? Yeah. . . one of THOSE.  
  
"Is that all?" inquired Yuffie, impatient as hell.  
  
"Yes. That's all." Rude threw the file away. "I'm horny. Elena, get your naughty, cheating ass over here."  
  
Tseng sighed. "You two are SO unprofessional." He strode over to Vincent. "You want to go our for some coffee? A doughnut? Maybe a muffin?"  
  
"What happened to your towel?" was the reply.  
  
There was a loud SLAP as Reno caught a handful of Kisaragi rage. Yuffie HMPH'd loudly and said, "Vinnie, we have what we need. Let's GO!" She rushed from the shanty in a big huff.  
  
"That's not your towel!" yelled Reno.  
  
"I said NO, you can't see me naked, so SHUT UP!" the ninja answered.  
  
"Then maybe you should take your clothes!" he suggested.  
  
Yuffie spun about, grabbed her gear (and Reno's, as well), and left just as fast as she'd returned. Vincent followed, sprinting backwards, holding Tseng back with rapid suppressing fire. "RUN!" he shouted. They fled from the shanty of doom and found there bus once again.  
  
"Where to now?" Yuffie asked.  
  
"You remember," Vincent replied.  
  
"We find - the Merovingian."  
  
***** ***** ***** ***** *****  
  
In case you didn't catch it, I bought the Return of the King video game - hence both the content of the chapter and the time I took to deliver it. I can't wait for the movie . . .  
  
Shout-out to my home dawgs, Alex, Ross and Tom. We shall always remember the shanty of doom!  
  
Well, now we must seek the Merovingian. I can't wait for Monica Bellucci's entrance - ho, yeah . . .  
  
Didn't I promise our companions a new computer? Oh, well. Soon! 


	5. A Suspenseful Visit to the Merovingian's...

Four Feathers by DJ666  
  
We're on to the Merovingian's chateau! Wow . . . from a shanty to a chateau in one chapter flat. I am sooooo good! Perhaps we shall now get a new computer - LOTS of new computers, actually, as a certain foul-mouthed pilot shall finally make his appearance.  
  
Content: Cid Highwind.  
  
Disclaimer: I now own 50.1% of all Square stock. Therefore, expect to see FFVII-2 hitting shelves next month.  
  
***** ***** ***** ***** *****  
  
Chapter Five:  
  
"Wait a minute," said Vincent. "We're in a bus right now. We found it when we came out of the shanty. But when we got out of the Northern Crater, weren't we in a diesel-powered jet? Our bus was destroyed in our escape attempt!"  
  
"Oh yeah," Yuffie replied, realizing that her companion was right. "What is this thing?"  
  
"I don't know." The vampire pulled the bus to a screeching halt and drew his weapon quickly. "Yuffie?"  
  
"Yeah, Vinnie?"  
  
"Get out your shuriken."  
  
Suddenly, the leathery bat thing from Jeepers Creepers came flying out of nowhere and latched onto Vincent's arm, its claws tearing at his - uh . . . claw. A shuriken swiftly cut the air and lodged itself in the thing's flesh, digging nearly all the way into the body. The monster shrieked, and its vampiric prey took the moment of weakness to pry it off and shoot it in the eye. Now half-blind, the demon spun about wildly, banging its wings on the sides of the bus. Yuffie threw another shuriken at it, and Vincent shot it, point-blank, in the back of the neck. It slumped, motionless, to the floor.  
  
"NOW he's dead," said Yuffie.  
  
"Yeah," Vincent agreed, reloading Death Penalty. They both stared at each other for a second.  
  
"Did you see the movie Scream?" the vampire asked.  
  
They both shot it again. A lot.  
  
Once they were confident that their attacker was dead, the odd couple left their bus by the side of the road. They were just about at their destination, anyway. After a few yards of walking, they found themselves in front of a massive building. The sign said, 'THE MEROVINGIAN'S MANSION. NO, I'M NOT EVIL. I JUST LIKE ORACLES' EYEBALLS.'  
  
Vincent took point, kicking open the doors of the skyscraper and shooting the guards. When the maitre'd came over to ask what they wanted, Vincent shot him, too. Then he went on a few rampages. He cleaned each floor in turn, messily smiting everybody, impaling their corpses on stakes, then getting in the elevator, proceeding to the next floor, and repeating the process.  
  
At floor 69, someone got in. Vincent eyed him warily. He was a slightly disheveled, forty-year-old guy with a bald head and that 'My mama lives with ME!' look about him. He cowered in the corner and cried until Vincent and Yuffie got off again.  
  
"What was HIS problem?" asked the vampire.  
  
"Maybe he knew this dude whose head you're carrying around a stick," suggested his companion.  
  
"Good point."  
  
Together, they entered the restaurant of the Frenchman. He was sitting at a table on a dais at the far side of the room, his steaming hot wife Persephone seated beside him, looking extremely bored. Her eyes lit up as she saw Vincent approaching them, head-stake in one hand and Death Penalty in the other, blood on his face and fire in his heart. She could see the seething rage and hatred within him. But she allowed her husband to speak first.  
  
"Hello, Vincent. Yuffie."  
  
"Hello, Merovingian," greeted the vampire. "Hiya, Merv!" ejaculated his companion.  
  
"Welcome. Please, sit down." He gestured to the seats before him. "Have some wine, I beg of you."  
  
"Please, excuse me for a moment," asked Vincent politely.  
  
"But of course," the Frenchman replied.  
  
Vincent spun about and sprayed the room with machine-gun fire, tearing people apart with the steady slew of bullets flying across the restaurant. Innocents ducked for cover, but the ex-Turk was a fantastic shot; he recalculated each bullet's trajectory and managed to bump off the fat dude crouching under the table with a ricochet that tore through his jugular, spraying his friend with blood. After a minute or so of firing, Vincent ran out of bullets and began beating the few survivors with the head-stake until all had been smited.  
  
"Thank you," said Vincent with genuine gratitude. Sitting back down, he sipped the wine delicately. "Mmm, Chateau Au Bris, 1957, if I'm not mistaken?"  
  
"Very good, sir," answered the Merovingian. "You are quite the wine connoisseur. However, this is not why you have come. You have come for something else."  
  
"Yes," replied Vincent. "We are seeking a man. His name is Jim. He writes fan fictions to the effect that Yuffie and I are partners of a sexual nature. We have found this most displeasing. We understand that your wife has some business dealings with this person, and we'd like to get in touch for a little chat. A little, execution-style chat."  
  
"Oh-kaaaaaaaaaaay," said Merv. "I know this man, and I see no reason why I should give him to you. Therefore, I'm going to go get a rimjob from whoever happens to be in the ladies' room. Good bye."  
  
WHOOSH!  
  
He was gone!  
  
"God-fucking-DAMN IT!" shouted Vincent. "Oh well - come on, Yuffie, let's get out of here. Yuffie?" He spun about, scratching his head. She was nowhere to be seen. So was Persephone. The only people still there were Vincent and some tricked-out vampires in trenchcoats.  
  
"Jesus Christ, why does this ALWAYS happen?"  
  
"No idea," said the vampires.  
  
(The story shall, for spacing purposes, now switch to script style.)  
  
[The VAMPIRES attack VINCENT.]  
  
VAMPIRES: *attack VINCENT*  
  
[He fights them off with his SUPER-KEWL KUNG FU ACTION MOVES and his KICK- ASS UNDEAD REFLEXES.]  
  
VINCENT: *KUNG FU, REFLEXES, ETC.*  
  
[He says WITTY STUFF to them.]  
  
VINCENT: *wittiness*  
  
[They reply with DERISIVE VAMPIRE SNORTS. VINCENT smites them.]  
  
VINCENT: *much wrathful smitage*  
  
(We now return to novel format. Thank you for enjoying this preview of the upcoming film, Vincent vs. the Gang of Vampire Guards Who Were Stuck in the Story for No Particular Reason!)  
  
"Only one vampire left!" said Vincent breathlessly. "Time to die, BITCH!" Then he stopped in his tracks. "Wait a minute - Mephistopheles?"  
  
"Vinky?" asked the other.  
  
In sudden realization that they were old friends, the two stood around silently, nodding slowly. Trust me, translated from Vincent to human, they may as well have been licking each other's faces right now. It was not overlong before Vincent asked, "So, you know Persephone?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Can you get her to give me Jim's address?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Awkward silence.  
  
"Uh, so you could, you like, do that now?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
Vincent stroked his chin. "Uh, maybe you're not getting this: what I'm saying is, 'Get me Persephone'."  
  
"OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHH," said Mephistopheles. "Okay. Just let me take my key - zoop - there we go."  
  
"Well, give me breast implants and call me Blowjob Betsy. A chateau?"  
  
"No, it's a secret hideout in the woods where I come to masturbate to GQ magazine. YES, it's a chateau. Persephone's office is in there. Give her this and she'll give you Jim's address." Mephistopheles made out intensely with Vincent's face for three minutes or so, then began humping his leg. Breaking off the encounter, he said, "Good luck."  
  
And WHOOSH! He was gone.  
  
"Well, here I go . . ."  
  
Vincent grabbed the doorknob and pulled. The slab of wood didn't budge. He grabbed and pushed. Still nothing. Pissed off, he reached into the door and ripped its heart out, putting it in a Chinese take-out box and throwing it on the floor, smashing it into oblivion with his foot.  
  
"Did you even *try* twisting the knob instead of just grabbing on a tugging?"  
  
The voice had come from beyond the door. Casting aside the portal cover, the vampire strode into the office with a purposeful gait. "I am sorry about your door. You are Persephone, the Merovingian's wife? I need your help."  
  
"I know. But why should I give this thing that you desire to you?"  
  
"Because if you don't, I'll rip out your spine and bend you backwards so I can shove your head up your own ass?"  
  
"There is only one thing that will make me do you a favor. Because you made it past Mephistopheles, I assume you know what it is that I seek."  
  
"Yes, I do," answered Vincent. He walked forward, ready to screw Persephone's brains out if he had to, but an outstretched hand stopped him dead in his tracks. "Is there a problem?"  
  
"The secret handshake cannot be done to me. My husband would kill you."  
  
"I can take your pansy-ass husband on anytime, any place. Idiot Frenchman. 'Oh, don't go into Iraq! Saddam is nice! Hole-dwelling bastard. We got his ass NOW!"  
  
"Uh, yeah. That's great. I need you to do the secret handshake to the wall. Then I shall give you what you desire."  
  
"Oh, Jesus. . ." Vincent slapped his forehead. You and your stupid lust for vengeance. Why does your sense of honor have to be as big as your ego? God DAMN it. Well, start doing it.  
  
You hate me, don't you? Vincent asked me silently.  
  
No, I just like watching you dance. Now dance, puppet! Dance! BWAHAHAHAAAAA!!!!  
  
All RIGHT already!  
  
Slowly, smoothly, seductively, Vincent kissed - the wall. He moaned a bit, gasped a bit, stroking its soft white surface and flicking his wet pink tongue across the stale paint. When he had done this for several minutes, he began to hump the doorknob, rolling his hard member across the resistant brass. Finally, Persephone snuck up behind him and pulled him away from the portal.  
  
"Good, good," she said soothingly, massaging his neck. "Now that I know you were not sent to kill me, we can talk in a more comfortable setting. Let's go down to the Dungeons."  
  
"Excuse me?" asked Vincent, shocked but not showing it.  
  
"The Dungeon. It's where my husband keeps his prisoners. I mean, guests. D'OH!"  
  
"Fine, whatever," was the simply reply.  
  
Persephone strolled over to her bookcase and tugged a book, revealing that it was in fact a shoddily-made prop door. "Hurry," she said, before walking through the opening as slowly as she possibly could without falling down, tossing her hips from side-to-side as though she was trying to rip her guest's head of by snapping it sideways with each thrust of her sumptuous rump.  
  
The Dungeon was, mercifully, not what Vincent expected. Or, if it was what he had thought, then Persephone had some serious fetish issues. And Vincent, coffin-dwelling vampire that he was, was definitely NOT the voyeuristic type. Especially not in front of the prisoner shouting "VINCE!! VINNIE, BABY!!! HEY, MOTHERFUCKER!!!" at him.  
  
"Oh, save me, Jeebus. Cid, what the hell are you doing here?"  
  
Indeed, it was none other than the foul-mouthed pilot that was stuck in a cell in the Merovingian's chateau Dungeon. "Hey, Vince. What the fuck am I doin' here? Well, I'll tell ya, fucker. Ya see, I was takin' Merv and Sephy here on their fuckin' honeymoon, all romantic and shit, and Seph was lookin' so fuckin' hot that I had just had to fuck her in her sweet little ass. Her ass is fuckin' nice, goddamnit. Check out that fuckin' ass, fucker."  
  
"Actually, we imprisoned him here because my husband found his tongue so distasteful," explained Persephone.  
  
"Well," explained Vincent, "I'm gonna need him, and Jim's address. And, presumably, his vehicle, if you have it."  
  
"All right," said Persephone. "But first - "  
  
"FOR SHIT'S SAKE, I ALREADY HAD TO FAKE-FUCK FOR YOU, WHAT THE HELL ELSE DO YOU WANT ME TO DO?"  
  
"Fine, nothing. Jim's last name is McDonald. He lives in Upper Sector 5, that's all I know. You can scour the place for him, ask around, you know."  
  
"Bu - wh - didn't the Turks say he lived in - "  
  
"SILENCE!" shrieked Persephone. "I WILL NOT TOLERATE YOUR INSOLENCE! HUSBAND!"  
  
"Oh, shit," said Vincent. Turning to Cid's cell, he ripped the door out and grabbed the pilot by the scruff of his neck. "Where's the Highwind, damn it!"  
  
"Why the fuck would they tell me where they put it?" asked Cid. "However, despite the fact that I should have no knowledge whatsoever of this place, I do know that the hangar with the Highwind is the Hangar."  
  
"Which hangar, numbnuts!"  
  
"There's only one fuckin' hangar, dumbass."  
  
Vincent groaned. "Fine, whatever. Now where is Yuffie? We have to go before the Merovingian gets here."  
  
"Ooooh, REEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEALLY?" said a pissy French voice.  
  
"Oh, Jesus CHRIST, would you shut UP?"  
  
"Noooooooo," replied the Merovingian.  
  
"Well, just for a second: I love the music in this 'Prince of Persia' commercial."  
  
"Okay."  
  
La la la la la . . .  
  
"All right. Time to die, Merv." Vincent whipped out his twin pistols. "Say 'hi' to Ebony and Ivory!"  
  
"Uh - isn't that Dante from Devil May Cry?"  
  
"Oh yeah. Sorry." Whoosh! Death Penalty was aimed and cocked, an inch from Merv's forehead. "I need to leave. I'm grabbing the Highwind and jetting. See you." He squeezed the trigger. The Merovingian's face exploded into a puddle of - silvery goo.  
  
"God DAMN it, he's a T-1000!"  
  
"I con tik keer aff dees."  
  
"Hey! It's Ah-nuld!"  
  
"No. I om da T-one hondred. Com wit me if you vont to leef."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Nottink. I'll heendle da T-one towsand."  
  
"Okay. That's great. Cid, let's jet."  
  
"Sure, fucker." The pair set off at a run. The Terminator pulled a Gattling gun out of his butt and started letting loose. He had used up all his ammo and pulled out his blopper grenade launcher when KRISTANNA LOKEN appeared!  
  
"Oh, no. Da macheens hoff becom smaht enough to sent TWO Teuh-mineetuhs. I om doomt." The trio of death danced the death dance of death. Ah-nuld was no more. But had served his purpose - Vincent and Cid were safe.  
  
"Cid, get the Highwind booted up."  
  
"No fuckin' problem, fucker. Just hold the fuck on and keep your fuckin' ass outta the way of the fuckin' engine blast when I start the bitch."  
  
" . . .right." Vincent blinked. "I have to find Yuffie."  
  
"No shit."  
  
"Do you have any idea where she is?"  
  
"Just follow the fucking screams, fucker."  
  
The vampire sighed. "Must you describe them as 'fucking screams'? Why not just 'screams'?"  
  
"'Cause they are fucking screams, fucker. Yuffie is fucking and screaming. You can hear it."  
  
Vincent's ears perked up.  
  
'Oooooh, HORSERADISH!'  
  
"Wow. You're more useful than I thought."  
  
"No shit, fucker."  
  
"Okay. Stay here and get ready to take off."  
  
"No fuckin' problem. Go find the little fucker and bring her the fuck back before this place fucking explodes, got it, fucker?"  
  
"Who said this place is going to explode?"  
  
"In a vain attempt to create fucking tension and anxiety and shit, the fuckin' author made the place explode on a fuckin' timer. You got ten fuckin' minutes. GO, FUCKER!"  
  
"The Merovingian's chateau will self-destruct in ten fuckin' minutes," said a voice on the PA.  
  
"Shit."  
  
"No shit, fucker."  
  
Vincent turned and ran, following the echoes of Yuffie's ecstasy. The thin walls made it easy for the sound to travel. Although he could block out most comments, the vampire was still struck by a few utterances (most notably, 'Use the cat again - OH, GOD, that's good, God, God, meee-OW!'). Before long, he found her, and in the most obvious place possible - the bathroom.  
  
He broke the door down and barged in. "Yuffie!"  
  
"Vincent!"  
  
"Vincent?"  
  
"Mephistopheles!"  
  
"YOU brought him here? BITCH!" *slap*  
  
"You betrayed me for YUFFIE? BITCH!" *slap*  
  
"You did VINCENT? WOW!"  
  
*blink*  
  
"I mean, BITCH!" *slap*  
  
"What were you two doing?" asked Vincent.  
  
"Making out," explained Yuffie.  
  
"Chestnuts?" asked Mephistopheles.  
  
"Listen, Muffin - we need to go."  
  
The vampire grasped his prey with his legs. "Why?"  
  
"The Merovingian's chateau will self-destruct in five fuckin' minutes," said the PA system.  
  
"Ah. We'd best go."  
  
"Indeed."  
  
All three raced from the room, Yuffie still struggling back into her clothing. In three minutes, they were back at the Highwind. It was powered down.  
  
"CID!" yelled Vincent.  
  
"What, fucker?"  
  
"WHY DIDN'T YOU POWER UP THE SHIP?"  
  
"I did, dumbass. The fuckin' author wanted more suspense and shit, so the fuckin' engines won't start."  
  
"FUCK YOU, AUTHOR!"  
  
Vincent shook a fi  
  
HEY! THAT'S NOT NICE!  
  
Vincent shook a fist at the sky, defying the gods themselves. A lightning bolt erupted from the sky and set him on fire.  
  
"Wow," remarked Yuffie. "He's so hot, he's on fire."  
  
"The Merovingian's chateau will self-destruct in one fuckin' minute. The ship will now start."  
  
"Thanks, fucker!" Cid punched a few buttons and the engines erupted into flame, burning Mephistopheles to a cinder.  
  
"Whoops." A beat passed. "I mean, Whoops, fucker! Jump in, fuckers, the fuckin' ship is leaving the fuckin' chateau!"  
  
"The Merovingian's chateau is self-destructing. Thank you for using AirHighwind. We hope you fly again soon in the event of your survival of the gargantuan scripted explosion. Please remain seated for the duration of the takeoff; please observe that the captain has turned on the 'fasten seatbelt' sign and broken the 'no smoking' decree. Watch the fuck out and enjoy your flight."  
  
"So, where the fuck we goin'?"  
  
"Let's concentrate on surviving, huh?"  
  
"Good idea, fuckers. Upper Sector Five it is."  
  
"Hey, we never told you - "  
  
"Or did you, fuckers?"  
  
Vincent and Yuffie stroked their chins, pondering.  
  
"It's no, fuckers. You didn't tell me, dumbanuses."  
  
"Oh. Then how - "  
  
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!!! THE HUGE PRE-SCRIPTED EXPLOSION IS CATCHING UP TO US!!!!! IS THIS THE END???!!!"  
  
***** ***** ***** ***** *****  
  
Wow. That has to be the longest posting gap EVER. For me at least.  
  
Frankly, I don't know how the Terminators ended up in the Matrix, or how Cid knows where Jim lives. I don't even know if the trio survives the gargantuan scripted explosion. Merry Christmas, though. I hope I get Knights of the Old Republic. That's a kick-ass game. (read: The next chapter will be full of crap from Knights of the Old Republic.)  
  
Anyway, I'm glad some people read the story and enjoy it. I enjoy it, at least. I don't know if anybody got the FLCL reference up there, but read it again if you want. And in the meantime, get the FLCL series on DVD. It's only six episodes, but it's funny as hell.  
  
Hmm . . . FLCL + KOTOR = next chappie? We'll find out soon enough! 


	6. Look at Me! I'm Annoying!

Four Feathers by DJ666  
  
Well, we've escaped the Merovingian's chateau.  
  
Content: Swearing. LOTS of motherfucking swearing. Violence, too. Drug use. And, knowing me, probably some crude humor. But we'll see. If you didn't get the title yet, I'm talking about Aeris. That's right; the undead bitch is coming back to haunt the team. Aeris-lovers beware - this could get ugly. And I mean, uglier than Aeris. Well, maybe not QUITE as ugly, but just as painful to hear and about as pointless to care about.  
  
Disclaimer: I wrote Sakaguchi-sama, and he finally sold me the rights to Final Fantasy. So everyone out there who wrote in their disclaimers that they wanted to own it? BOO-FRICKIDY-HOO!! IT'S MINE NOW!!!  
  
***** ***** ***** ***** *****  
  
Chapter Six: Look at Me! I'm Annoying!  
  
"Hey, what do you know? We escaped the gimongous nuclear explosion from the Merovingian's chateau!"  
  
"Who could have seen *that* one coming . . ."  
  
"Hey, shut up, Vinnie. Or should I say . . . Vinky?"  
  
"Yuffie, how far is your shuriken from your hand?"  
  
"About fifteen feet."  
  
"How far is my gun from your head?"  
  
"About - oh. Damn it."  
  
"Quite right."  
  
"If you'll excuse me, I have to go vomit now."  
  
"I told you, Yuffie, you're not fat!"  
  
"No, I mean I have to go - DFBUSID0FOUB3RBTIU4EWUYWI4EWPUGYH43289(*&nb n5B4H6Y9T-W[4TH6UHJNY4O987T!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"  
  
"Whoa . . . I've never seen somebody barf up an asterisk before."  
  
"Me neither, fucker!"  
  
"Shut up, guys - it's not my fault that MWADOOBOOSHLIBIBADIBIDDIPDIPDIPTAKTAKTAKSHSHSHSHSHIKIKWEEOOOOOODABADAGAGBAYA SHMAHAHGENFUGEN!!!"  
  
"Indeed. It SNOT your fault!"  
  
"BWAHAHAHAHAAAA, fucker!"  
  
"Okay, Cid, you can shut up now."  
  
"Okay, fucker."  
  
Vincent sighed. He'd had to stand Cid's superfluous swearing through every sentence the steersman spat, and more were sure to come. The vampire had torn apart one of the crew members wandering about, rendered wax from his fat, and plugged his super-undead ears with as much of the gelatinous goo as they could hold. However, the heat from Cid's cigarettes had melted the amorphous earplugs, and now he had to take the brunt of the imprecatory dialogue.  
  
"So, we're going to Upper Sector Five. Ever been there before?"  
  
"No, fucker. Why the fuck d'ya ask?"  
  
"It's the ghetto. The Jewish ghetto, actually." Vincent heaved an even greater sigh than before. "The Jews were oppressed for years, you see, and moved into the Sector Five slums. Then Judas Maccabeus led a coup and took the plate; that's where they're all being contained right now."  
  
Cid scratched his head. In the second that his hand left the wheel, the massive airship jerked left, careening wildly off the side of a building and crashing into several little kids' balloons. A few citizens waved their fists as the passing zeppelin; Cid shouted, "FUCK THE FUCK OFF, YOU FUCKING PIECES OF FUCKING FUCK-FUCKERS!" as Vincent took potshots off the bow. After nailing a few ducks over the North Sea, Highwind swooped his vessel back towards Midgar.  
  
"Hold the fuck on," said Cid, continuing the thought which had prompted the fateful head-scratch. "The Jews are being fucking oppressed in Midgar, right?"  
  
"Yeah," replied Vincent.  
  
"So, wouldn't Cloud be the fucker doing that?"  
  
"Good point. Bastard."  
  
"FUCKING bastard, if y'ask me!"  
  
"Indeed." Vincent stroked his chin. "Perhaps the city will need to undergo a change of command before our quest is over. What do you think, Yuffie?"  
  
"SHPLAGGADINGUDENFLURUGADENPAMENSHINGLOOPFRIGGIDABIGNIGSKABOOM!!!!!!!!!!!!"  
  
"Agreed." Vincent turned back to his work: as always, greasing up Death Penalty. "Cid, can you land the ship in Sector Five?"  
  
"Sure, fucker, but it'll be fifteen minutes afore we can get to the fucking place."  
  
The other frowned. "But can't we reach the next continent in like, four seconds if we try?"  
  
"Yeah, but fuck, have you ever SEEN Cloud on the World Map? Either Midgar is five yards in diameter, or that fucker is HUGE-ASS."  
  
"True, true . . . but have you ever noticed that for most of the time, he doesn't even have a mouth?"  
  
"Wait a fucking minute - YOU DON'T HAVE A MOUTH!"  
  
"NEITHER DO YOU!"  
  
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!"  
  
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!"  
  
"SWDFHVGHJGFRYIGBTVRJEWUFRIGFTRIHTFIGRTBLISYGF;IJEWGHOIUFWEQIPUFGWEIUFGWEIGF RBTGFIURGFIPOIUREWGFBREWHRBGFIUVIJGRKVUBIHR45OUGTNRKJIURHNTIUFIFOTIGO9[TGHYQ 87[9YT8Y987;O5TGHIURHPIUREWPHGFRI/GFRBTYI4UEGFRT4G7GFTEGFRT974GRTF4E!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"  
  
"Wait a minute - HOW CAN YUFFIE VOMIT WITHOUT A MOUTH???" asked Vincent, horrified enough to warrant three question marks.  
  
"I dunno," said Yuffie. "But then again, we don't have guts either."  
  
"ORORORORORORORORORORO??????????????????????????????" asked the vampire, this time surprised enough to get a Japanese expression of alarm ON TOP OF 30 question marks.  
  
"FUCKERS!" shrieked Cid. "CALM THE FUCK DOWN! JUST KEEP YOUR FUCKING MINDS ON THE FUCKING MISSION!"  
  
"Right!" said Vincent. "The mission!"  
  
"And, by the way," said Cid, "could you just remind me what the fuck the fucking mission *is* again?"  
  
"Wait a minute," began Yuffie thoughtfully, "didn't you know our mission in the last chapter?"  
  
"You did!" agreed Vincent.  
  
Cid's eyes shifted back and forth in alarm. "Uh - OR SO IT WOULD FUCKING SEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEM!!!" He waved his arms around like a magician.  
  
"I still remember you knowing the mission."  
  
"FUCK! All right, I can't remember."  
  
"Why not?" asked Yuffie.  
  
"Too much pot," he explained, gesturing towards his cigarette.  
  
"REALLY?" Suddenly Yuffie was gone. So was Cid's joint.  
  
"Fuck. To the fucking fuckteenth power. She's gone."  
  
"Noooo . . . I'm right here, sexy man."  
  
*cue Marvin Gaye*  
  
bew bew bew BEWN  
  
"I been feeling DRYYYY, oh baby . . ."  
  
bew da dew da DEWN  
  
"I been so DRY-Y-YYYY . . ."  
  
bew bew bewn da DEWN  
  
Cid and Yuffie looked around. Vincent was sitting there with a guitar in his hands and a frown on his face. "I forgot the rest of the song. Sorry."  
  
"I didn't know you sang, Vinnie." The shinobi leaned close to the ninja-cum- bard (no, seriously, that's a phrase: nothing sexual about it). "Your voice is so . . . sexy . . . sex-ay . . . mmmmmmmmmm . . ." Yuffie felt more relaxed than she'd ever been in her life.  
  
"Hey, I remembered some more!  
  
"Oh let's get it o-o-onnnnn . . ."  
  
bew da dew bew BEWN  
  
"AH-LET'S LOVE, BABY!"  
  
BEWN  
  
"We're aaaaaa-all sensitive people . . ."  
  
bewn da da bewn bewn DEWN  
  
"Let's get it on-o-o-onnn . . ."  
  
bew bewn . . . bewn . .. uh .. . b . . . da. .. . damn it. "Sorry. That's all I know. Guys? GUYS!!!???"  
  
The pilot and ninja were making sweet, sweet love in the pilot's chair of the Highwind. The joint lay forgotten at their feet. "Guys, knock it off! GUYS!" Vincent got mad.  
  
"SDFIJGKHBFKHEWYBFHFYKIHGYYIFEW;FEWIHGFEWJGHUFO;GROKSKJBFWIYEGFBKWJHRKIY4bFV IYEB/KGRFUYHBRWGFIUYGWKFGSDIUGFRUFYG;KURGFIUWGFBIREWFBTIEWHIF!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"  
  
But Chaos was not what manifested itself before the two. Instead, it was a young girl on a Vespa motorcycle, wielding a tricked-out bass guitar. In one fell swoop, she smashed the purplish bludgeon into both heads, knocking one into the other.  
  
"OW, MOTHERFUCKER!"  
  
"Yeah, no shit, baby . . ." *smooch smooch*  
  
*SMACKATIVENESS*  
  
"WOULD YOU FUCKING QUIT IT, VINCENT!?!?!?!?" Then he opened his eyes. "Vincent?"  
  
"Hiya, Ta-kun!" said the girl with the guitar.  
  
"FUCK," said the stoned pilot. "She is FINE."  
  
"Fuck," said Yuffie. "She IS fine."  
  
Cocking her head sideways, the stranger walked in a circle around the druggies. "You sure are weird, Ta-kun!"  
  
"Uh, that's not Ta-kun," said Yuffie. "That's Cid . . . my baby . . ." *smooch smooch*  
  
*MORE SMACKATIVENESS*  
  
"OKAY, FUCKER, I GET THE IDEA!" Cid rubbed his head. "Fuck, Vincent, is that YOU?"  
  
"Vincent?" asked the girl, taken aback. "Whatever do you MEAN, Ta-kun?" She giggled. "Isn't that a GUY'S name? I'm not a guy." She stopped walking. "WANNA SEE?!?!?!"  
  
"Sure," said Yuffie as she dragged herself over Cid's form and dropped on a plush pillow. "Hey - weren't we making out in the driver's seat?"  
  
"Yeah, no fuck."  
  
"So how did we get on this big red love seat?"  
  
"THAT would have been MY doing," explained guitar girl. "That chair was really yucky, so I took you over here to be more comfortable. Say, do you have a cat around here?"  
  
"Yeah . . . she's one of the Cat Lady's cats . . . she's Oolong . . . my baby . . ." *smooch smooch* (!!!)  
  
*FINAL INCIDENT OF SWIFT SMACKATIVENESS*  
  
"Excellent," she muttered darkly, pressing her fingertips together. "Now, Smithers? Release the hounds."  
  
". . . the fuck?" asked Cid.  
  
"Nothing, Ta-kun!"  
  
"That's not Ta-kun!" insisted Yuffie. "It's Cid, m - "  
  
"Get the FUCK off, Yuffie. I've had enough fucking guitars to the head, thanks a fucking lot." The pilot stood up. "Damn it, you smacked the fucking stoned right out of me. Look, there it is!" On the floor in a little plastic baggie was a green substance labeled, with masking tape, 'Cid's fucking STONED'.  
  
"Oops! Sorry, Ta-kun." She took it, opened up his head and shoved it back inside. "Good as new!"  
  
"Hey, how the fuck is there space in my fucking head for you to stick that shit in?"  
  
"It's not like you have a BRAIN or anything!"  
  
"THE FUCK!"  
  
"Relax. You don't have a mouth either, remember? What you DO have is three new horns, though!"  
  
"The FUCK?????"  
  
Sure as shit, each guitar smack had yielded a long, squarish horn on both Cid's head and Yuffie's. "Wha - I have horns?" asked the ninja. "I must be a little devil, huh?" She giggled. "I'm a NAUGHTY girl . . ." She approached the guitar girl, looking - 'hungry'.  
  
"Actually, it's not like that!" said the alien cheerfully. "You're just a bit HORNIER than you were before!" She covered her eyes, cackling wildly. "Oh, I'm good! Whee!"  
  
"Who the fuck ARE you?" wondered Cid aloud.  
  
"I'm HARUKO - uh, HARUKO HA - HA something. I forget what." She scratched her head. "Well I'll be a studmuffin!"  
  
"You can't even remember your own fucking NAME?!" shouted Cid, enraged.  
  
"Well, it's not my name! My real identity is - "  
  
Suddenly, there was a flash of movement. The girl moved like a blur, and a second later before them stood - the girl.  
  
In a strangely familiar pink dress.  
  
"Hey, why the fuck are you wearing that fucking dress!" snarled the pilot of the airship. Speaking of which, who's flying the airship right now?  
  
Oh, fuck.  
  
"BWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"  
  
Everybody went slamming into the port wall as the Highwind swung to the left. It was spiraling out of control, ramming into buildings here and there, crushing the fleeing chickens and warranting the occasional curse from a concerned passerby. In a second, Haruko the guitar girl rushed to the pilot seat, righted their trajectory, and put the ship on cruise control.  
  
"THAT should work!" said Haruko. Then she rushed back to the two stricken druggies and said, "I'm HARUKO HA-what's-her-face, ALIEN ROCK STAR EXTRAORDINAIRE! But in my spare time, I'm a nurse, a housekeeper, and a certain Cetra you might all remember!"  
  
"FUCK, it's Aeris! Kill the fucker! KILL THE FUCKER!"  
  
"We can't kill her! It's Aeris!" Yuffie ran around in crazed circles.  
  
Cid swore. "You're fucking right! She's a fucking GHOST!" He snapped his fingers. "Well, fuck it, we just have to fucking kill OURSELVES." He ran to the cockpit and began pressing buttons.  
  
Haruko, however, rammed into him with her Vespa 'cycle and hit him with the guitar again. "NAUGHTY CID! It's me! Aeris!"  
  
"I KNOW, fucker!" sneered the prone pilot. "You just broke my fucking ATM!"  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"I mean, fucking ARM!" (Hey, my 'r' is right next to my 't'. So sue me.)  
  
"Oh. Well, anyway, it's me! Aeris!"  
  
"That's like, the eight billionth time you've said that," Yuffie pointed out.  
  
"So what? It's good to see you again! It's me! Aeris!"  
  
"ARGH, would you shut the FUCK UP!"  
  
"No, Cid. Don't be silly!"  
  
"WHY THE FUCK NOT?"  
  
"Cause it's me! AeriWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!!!!"  
  
Yuffie had caught the demon-Aeris-Haruka-Vincent thing in a flying tackle, grabbing it by the throat and choking it. However, a backswinging bass struck her over the head, and she fell limply to the ground. Cid, meanwhile, had just analyzed the preceding dialogue, and realized I'd made a mistake typing.  
  
"You just fucking called me 'Cid'. Why the fuck not that 'Taco' shit?"  
  
She giggled. "Sorry about that." Giggled again. "You see, this body sometimes takes over. So occasionally I'll call you Ta-kun. Just ignore it and call me Aeris a lot, and it'll be okay."  
  
"The fuck ya mean, 'this body takes over'?"  
  
"Well, it's me. But in order to interact with the world, I need a body, right? So I possessed this girl, Haruko. That's why she couldn't remember her name - because *I* couldn't remember her name. And to get to you, I needed to get to you FAST. So I became Vincent."  
  
"The fuck ya mean, 'became Vincent'?"  
  
"I'm his new limit break monster!" she said cheerfully. She made the peace sign, striking a pose, and the typical anime eye-twinkle thingy appeared. "Now, come on! We hafta GO!"  
  
"The fuck YOU know about the mission?" asked Cid tactlessly.  
  
"I'm the UNDEAD, stupid. I know EVERYTHING. Including all those naughty thoughts about Rufus. (!!!) But that's not important right now. We have to RESTORE BALANCE TO THE UNIVERSE!"  
  
"What?" asked Yuffie, completely uncomprehending of whatever the hell was going on. But you have to give her some credit - I mean, *I* barely know where this is going, but just bear with me.  
  
"We have to restore the balance to the universe!" she said again. "You know! Restore balance! Universe! Balance! Restore! Universe! Balance universe! You know!"  
  
"No, I fucking DON'T."  
  
"Oh." Aeris/Haruko shrugged. "Well, that doesn't matter, because you're all just pawns of the gods in the Lifestream who are using you for their own personal gain in destroying humanity and populating the earth with evil spirits of the one-dimensional characters of Final Fantasy II."  
  
*blink*  
  
"I mean . . . DAMN IT!"  
  
Suddenly, there was a popping sound. "Uh-oh! I got made in limit break form! Now the limit break is using a limit break!"  
  
"The fuck does that MEAN?" whined Cid.  
  
"IT MEANS I BECOME VINCENT AGAIN!" shrieked Aeris. Then, she exploded.  
  
"Whoa," said Yuffie. "That was so messed up . . ." She looked around quickly. " . . . baby." *smooch smooch*  
  
"Urgh . . ."  
  
They both turned to find Vincent on the floor, groaning miserably and nearly crushed to death by a large yellow Vespa. He weakly flung the vehicle away and propped himself up on his elbows. "Man," he said, rubbing his cranium, "I feel like I just got a sex-change operation without anesthetic while riding at 150 miles an hour on a tiny yellow motorcycle while I got bashed in the head by Aeris, with a bass guitar." He glanced at his friends. "Weird dream, huh?"  
  
"Uh, Vinnie?" said Yuffie tentatively. "Here's the thing . . ."  
  
"Oh, crap. What's wrong now?"  
  
"Well . . ." She took a deep breath. "WhathappenedwasmeandCidweremakingoutandyougotreallyangryforsomereasonsoyout ransformedforyourlimitbreakattackbutinsteadofChaosyouturnedintothishotgirlwi thabassguitarandaVespamotorcycleandthenyouhitusintheheadalotwithitanditturns outthatsthebodyAerispossessedtopossessyouwithbutwheneverthelimitbreakyougets maditbecomesnormalyouandAerisyougotmadsoshebecameyouyouagain." She let out a sigh. "That's about it."  
  
"I see," said Vincent. "I understand it all now!"  
  
"You do?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"But in any case, we still need to find Jim. So, have we reached Upper Sector Five yet?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Okay." Vincent cocked Death Penalty and popped an aspirin. "Just one thing: no more making out. That's what started this whole thing, so we compromise the mission by engaging in sexual congress with one another."  
  
"Okay, but - why should Cid help us?"  
  
"What makes you ask that?"  
  
"The fact that he just asked me, in his exact words, 'why the fuck [he] should haul [our] asses around'."  
  
"Good point," said Vincent. "We need to show him - an abomination."  
  
They shuddered.  
  
"Brace yourself."  
  
***** ***** ***** ***** *****  
  
Well, that's chapter - uh - *goes to top of word document to check title* six! As opposed to the last chapter, which came out in about a week, I managed to bang this out pretty quick. I mentioned FLCL last chapter? Well, Haruko, if I remember right, is from it.  
  
So, Aeris has reared her big, fat, annoying, ugly, annoying head. How will Vincent cope with the fact that, in a curiously Ranma ½ like situation, he occasionally changes into a woman? How will it affect the mission? How will the repression of Yuffie's mindless sex drive impact her fighting abilities? And will Cid consent to wasting gas on these fuckers? If you can't already find out the answers due to the simple-mindedness of this story, you're going to have to read the next chapter whenever I write it! See ya! 


	7. YEAH, I SAID THROBBING WAD OF SMALL INTE...

Four Feathers by DJ666  
  
No, I'm not gothicDJ. My initials are DJ, that's all; I don't spin Slipknot tunes at raves and vampire BDSM nightclubs.  
  
Much.  
  
Anyway, Cid is here! And Aeris! And soon, Jewish people! Before anybody thinks I'm anti-Semitic, I'll just tell you that I love Jewish people. They kick ass. And only kick-ass people make it into my stories. Except for Aeris, of course. She was just a throwaway.  
  
Content: Yarrr! There be schtupping! Rape, actually. And violence, swearing, and a little more drug use.  
  
Disclaimer: You want a piece of me? Haruko, bring me my MIGHTY SMITEY AXE GUITAR OF ETERNAL DAMNATION!!!  
  
***** ***** ***** ***** *****  
  
Chapter Seven: While Intelligence is Fleeting, Idiocy is, Lamentably, Forever...And by That, I Mean to Say, Aeris is a Thousand Whores Raised to the Seventh Power Over Two Hundred and Fifty-Six  
  
"So, run this by me again."  
  
"Ugh..." Vincent groaned. "Plato's Theory of Forms states that every item has a unique identifying property that quite clearly classifies the item as one of its own kind. Therefore, I am Vincent due to my intrinsic possession of Vincent-ness."  
  
"Oh, and pee is pee because it has – "  
  
Yuffie snorted good-humoredly.  
  
"PEE-NESS!" (Say it out loud.)  
  
After a bout of raucous, one-sided laughter, she took a few deep breaths and calmed herself down. "Sorry 'bout that. So, like, I'm Yuffie 'cause I got Yuffie-ness."  
  
"No, you're Yuffie because you're annoying, promiscuous and stupid."  
  
"Oh, I – HEY!"  
  
"But can you really argue with that?"  
  
"Uh – er – I – b – wha – DAMN IT!"  
  
"Indeed."  
  
Yuffie frowned. "I don't know what's going on, or where we're going. And all the blood is rushing to my head."  
  
"So get off the ceiling!" Vincent shouted in return. "When you're upside down, blood seems to do that."  
  
"Why?" the ninja counter-queried.  
  
"I don't know," admitted the vampire with shrug of his shoulders. "Maybe it has something to do with GRAVITY, YOU FRICKIN' MORON."  
  
"Don't get mad, get glad!"  
  
The gunman looked about ready to burst a capillary. His eyeballs had ceased to reside within the general confines of his cranium, and his hair was standing up on end. It was spikey – anime spikey.  
  
"Seriously, Vinnie – " Yuffie dropped from the ceiling, directly onto her head. "– you don't wanna become that weird girl again, do you?"  
  
The vampire nodded quiet assent. "Yeah...but only because I want to be as far from being Aeris as is humanly possible."  
  
"But you're not human."  
  
"Neither is Aeris, but that's not stopping her."  
  
"She's a Cetra."  
  
"No, she's a whore."  
  
"But she seemed so – nice."  
  
"Just be glad she's straight, or else you might have found out the truth one night while she still lived."  
  
Yuffie cocked her head to one side, curious. "What are you talking about, Vinnie?"  
  
The gunman shook his head, sighing. "You don't want to know, Yuffie. I still have – the nightmares."  
  
GASP!  
  
"Nightmares?" asked the ninja. "What kind of – nightmares?"  
  
Vincent's eyes glazed over, maniacally. "They were – " He stopped in mid- sentence, unable to continue. But Yuffie pressed on: "What kind were they?"  
  
"No, seriously," the vampire answered, "I don't know. NIGHT mares. What are you, some kind of sex-crazed, pyromasochistic, developmentally retarded nutcase?"  
  
"Maybe. It's hard to tell just WHAT I am." Yuffie began slithering up Vincent's leg like a serpent. "I can be a lot of things, you know – a mistress – a slave." She slid past his groin. "You wanna be a policeman, Vinnie, Vin, Vi-kun? 'Cause I'm a bad girl, baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad, like a sheepsheep, bad, and I need you to cuff me and take me – take me in." She flicked her tongue along his ear. "Vi-kun?"  
  
She looked around. Vincent was gone. And she was currently slithering around a thoroughly unconscious Cid. In fact, the only part of the pilot that seemed remotely alive was his –  
  
Yuffie shrieked, leaving Cid asleep but waking up several assorted kinds of canines on the other side of the planet – Planet – whatever the hell it was. They fell to the floor together; well, more Yuffie than Cid. Until her flailing limbs struck the pilot's knees and forced them to collapse.  
  
Cid dutifully fell on top of the young, lean, virile, promiscuous, semi- nude female with his – aforementioned problematic anatomical entity pressing like a bee's stinger into the ninja's – uh – urgh –  
  
Okay, you sick freaks. Use your imaginations. I'm cutting to Vincent.  
  
***** ***** ***** ***** *****  
  
Hey, guys! Did you hear that they fixed that annoying problem with ellipses? Yeah, now the ... doesn't turn into a .. Isn't that awesome? NOW MY STORIES MAKE SENSE! KIND OF! OCCASIONALLY! BUT BACK TO VINCENT GO WE!  
  
The gunslinger was sitting in a corner, curled up into the fetal position. He was contemplating – the NIGHTMARES.  
  
***** ***** ***** ***** *****  
  
It had been a cold night in – oh, damn it. That icy place. I haven't played FFVII in about two years (HALO, man, HALO!), so you're gonna have to bear with me, here.  
  
Anyway, the team had just come away from a hard day's work, snowboarding and dodging Elena's punches and fighting monsters and doing other RPG things. Cloud had checked them all into the...uh...inn of that place that I'm talking about. Seriously, people, they don't give the towns very memorable names. I mean, 'Rocket Town'? Who's idiotic enough to name a town with a rocket in it ROCKET TOWN? GOD!  
  
No, God isn't that stupid. Actually, I'm an atheist, so don't think I'm dissing the Almighty. I was just using the divine name in vain. Now, before I go off onto a long philosophical tangent on why I'm an atheist, let's get back to the nightmare of – oh, damn it. You know, that guy. Vilmer. Victor. Vilmos. Virendra. Vittorio. VINCENT! Vincent. Right.  
  
So, they were all checked into this inn. Vincent had been stuck with Cloud; directly adjacent them were Yuffie and Tifa.  
  
Vincent, highly depressed by the low mean IQ of his companions, had taken to drinking. A lot. Sake was his favorite, because it put him out the fastest. Well, he'd drunk. He'd passed out. He'd vomited. And, at three in the morning, he seriously had to wizz. His bladder felt like a full water balloon. Being tossed around by eight-year-olds. Eight-year-olds who drank coffee. With Pepsi. And Mountain Dew. And crack.  
  
So he tiptoed out of the room, walking noiselessly down the stairs. He hadn't even interrupted Cloud's masturbation. Quiet, quiet, he snuck from their chambre and to the bathroom door.  
  
LOCKED.  
  
The gunslinger, clutching his crotch with reckless abandon, tiptoed down to the front desk. "I need to use the bathroom," he whispered to the clerk, "and it's locked."  
  
"Oh," answered the clerk. "To do that, you need to use a Bathroom Key."  
  
Vincent lifted an inquisitive eyebrow. "Yeah, no shit. Where's the key?"  
  
"Well, we don't have the key anymore."  
  
"You don't have the key to your own bathroom?"  
  
"It was stolen by monkeys."  
  
"So – "  
  
"Ninja Monkeys of the Eternal Shadow Forest of Forever Dying Souls in the Agony of Aeons. Their clan has been tormenting us for centuries."  
  
Vincent shook his head. "You've been oppressed by forest monkeys for hundreds of years?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
The vampire frowned, uncomprehending. "What the hell would a monkey do with a key? They live in TREES."  
  
"I don't know." The clerk smiled. "How can I help you?"  
  
"You can't, you moron. I'm gonna go get the stupid key myself."  
  
"YOU CAN'T!" shrieked the clerk. "The Forest is impossible to navigate without a Forest Map."  
  
Vincent waved her off. "I'm part vampire. I have kick-ass navigational skills."  
  
"NO! YOU NEED A FOREST MAP!" she snarled.  
  
By this point, Vincent had wet himself, but for appearances he played along; besides, he needed someplace to clean himself off: "Fine then. How do I get a map?"  
  
"You can get one from the Silent Cartographer down the Road."  
  
"Great. And what does this asshole want that I don't have?"  
  
"The Silent Cartographer collects rare stones. His collection includes emeralds, amethysts, blah blah blah, yadda yadda yadda – " The list continued as Vincent rapidly mashed the circle button in a desperately unsuccessful attempt to skip the painful dialogue. Finally, the good stuff popped up; the pace of mashing slackened.  
  
"The only stone the Silent Cartographer needs is a ruby."  
  
The gunslinger sighed, relieved: "Good! I have one of those from – "  
  
"THE ONLY WAY TO GET A RUBY IS TO CLIMB THE RED MOUNTAIN!" the clerk shouted.  
  
"No, seriously," the vampire insisted, "I got one when – "  
  
"THE ONLY WAY TO GET A RUBY IS TO CLIMB THE RED MOUNTAIN!"  
  
"Hone – "  
  
"THE ONLY WAY TO – "  
  
"FINE!" roared the other. "What useless implement must I obtain in order to climb the mountain?"  
  
"Nothing."  
  
"Nothing?"  
  
"Nothing. But the rubies atop the Red Mountain are guarded by a Red Dragon."  
  
Vincent laughed. "Oh, good. We killed one of those in the Temple of the Ancients, and they weren't so tough; wait, had they defeated Lost Number yet...?"  
  
"The only way to defeat the Red Dragon is with the White Sword of Eldrith."  
  
"But – "  
  
"THE ONLY WAY TO – "  
  
"WHATEVER!" Vincent shouted. "Where's this damned sword?"  
  
"It is across the land," replied the clerk, "in...the Northern Crater."  
  
"The Northern Crater is sealed off by a force field!" moaned Vincent.  
  
"It is across the land, in the Northern Crater."  
  
The gunslinger decided that he was pissed off, pissed on, and ready to snap. "If this pattern of perpetual sidequesting does not end in fifteen seconds, you're doomed. Go."  
  
The alarmed clerk fretted: "Onceyouhavethebarrierdownyoucangettheswordandkillthedragontakingtherubyandg ivingittothesilentcartogapherinreturnforamaptotheforestsoyoucanstealbacktheb athroomkeyfromthemonkeysandgopotty."  
  
So Vincent, instead of smiting the mighty Dragon, leapt up the mountain and stole a ruby while it slept. Then, he went to the Cartographer's house, woke him up, and gave him the ruby in exchange for the map. Slaughtering the entire monkey population of the Forest, he regained the bathroom key and returned. He stuck it in the lock.  
  
It didn't work.  
  
"Oh," the clerk remarked, "didn't you know? The lock is broken. To open it, first you need some Oil..."  
  
Still as wet but not so hungry, Vincent went back to bed. Cloud was still masturbating.  
  
Wait...his hands were handcuffed to the bed. How...oh, dear gods.  
  
It seemed that Aeris' was the manly voice grunting, "Horsie, horsie, ride ride ride!" She was straddling his pelvis, bouncing up and down upon her human trampoline as the boy moaned, pleasure and pain mingling bitterly sweet. Aeris whined something; 'too small to get easy penetration'; and kept humping. Cloud might have whispered something in terror; 'the rubber broke'; 'shoulda double-bagged it'; 'Tifa's gonna go nuts; Aeris answered something about 'nuts' as well. Her tongue reached Cloud's scrotum; Vincent's eyes snapped even further open, coming dangerously close to dangling out of his face.  
  
"Vincent!" she snarled...chipperly. "How's it hanging?"  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Never mind, I'm sure it's hard...wanna hump?"  
  
"HUH?"  
  
"Cloud, you ready?"  
  
The boy moaned, exhausted.  
  
"Good," insisted Aeris, "I'm using your handcuffs. Help me get Vinnie."  
  
After Cloud was roused from his post-coital stupor and bitten several dozen times around the eyes, the insane Cetra subdued her vampiric prey and fastened it to her bed.  
  
"Come on, Vincent, you know you want me."  
  
The gunslinger shook his head. "No, I don't. Trust me. I happen to know me rather well."  
  
"QUIET OR I USE THE WHIP!"  
  
Vincent shat up. Aeris put away the whip and pulled out the ICE CREAM. She let it drip onto his chest until the entirety of his pectoral region was chocolate-brown. Slowly, sadistically, she licked it off, sucking on his nipples like juicy strawberries. Damn, I'm hungry. I need some pretzels. Anyway, Aeris ran her tongue all over Vincent's upper body; he had gone shirtless for sleep. Now, her eyes noticed the clasp of his pants; and the gunslinger swore that with the power of her eyes she undid his garments! Like a disgruntled German haus-frau, she ripped off his remaining clothing, revealing his penis. It wasn't hard.  
  
"Don't you...like me, Vincent?"  
  
"No, and I already TOLD YOU THAT, NUMBNUTS!"  
  
Aeris pouted. "Oooh, you know what I think it is?" Her eyes glared evilly. "I think Vinny likes BOYS."  
  
The vampire lifted an incredulous eyebrow. "You have GOT to be kidding me."  
  
The Cetra nodded vigorously. "Cloud, come over here...Cloud." Cloud, still nude, came over. He had yet to even recover from his last orgasm; his knees were weak; Aeris insisted. "Cloud, put your mouth right – here – "  
  
***** ***** ***** ***** *****  
  
Vincent awoke screaming from his nightmare.  
  
***** ***** ***** ***** *****  
  
"So THAT'S where you were!" Yuffie realized, frowning. "The last place you would look."  
  
"The last place you would look for me is my BEDROOM?" Vincent shook his head. "Damn, I hope I never have a stroke while we're separated on this ship. I didn't wake Cid up, did I?"  
  
"I did. People tend to wake up even during *inadvertent* sex with me."  
  
"Cid had sex with you?"  
  
"Well, his penis was pressing into – love fruit."  
  
"I never knew you could be so tactful, Yuffie."  
  
The ninja shrugged in reply. "Well, that's what it is. I keep a banana in my pocket as a makeshift dildo."  
  
"...Oh."  
  
There was an awkward silence.  
  
"So where is Cid?"  
  
"Jammed in one of the ship's maintenance access tunnels. He needs some butter, and I figured – "  
  
"That I keep butter in my bedroom?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"...You sicken me."  
  
"You know who else does? That person who wrote those stories."  
  
Vincent sat up. "You're right. We were going to show Cid an abomination, weren't we?"  
  
"That's right."  
  
"Here," the vampire said, "use my butter to get him free."  
  
Yuffie furrowed an eyebrow, turning down the corners of her mouth. "Why do you have butter in your room?"  
  
"I'm not a pervert, but I'm not a *saint* either." He waved his hand.  
  
"Ooooooh....interesting."  
  
"I'll check my fire alarm..."  
  
"Oh, nuts!"  
  
***** ***** ***** ***** *****  
  
Cib rubbed his neck, trying to remove the indentation left in his flesh by the ventilation shaft's steel screws. "Son of a fuck, those things fucking HURT. And these fucking HORNS hurt, too, which YOU fucking gave me, Vince, with your fucking guitar."  
  
The gunman shrugged. "That was Aeris, not me. Come on, we have a – thing, to do."  
  
The pilot grimaced. "What fucking 'thing'? I ain't got nothing to fucking do today."  
  
"We have to convince you to take us on our mission," explained Yuffie.  
  
"Wasn't I already fucking taking you on your fucking mission anyway?"  
  
There was a moment of contemplative silence.  
  
"Yeah," Vincent admitted, "but the author has way too much fun writing erotica for him to pass up this opportunity. So come on; we have to go over to the computer room."  
  
"We have a computer room?"  
  
The vampire shrugged again. "We do if I say we do."  
  
I grunted, 'aherm'. "Don't go all Moses on me, Vince." (In the Old Testament of the Bible, there's a point at which the Hebrews want to give up their desert wandering, and they're really pissed off. So God says, 'Moses, striketh yon rock and watre shalt springeth forth.' So Moses goes to the Hebrews, 'Wanteth ye yon miracle? I shalt shew ye.' And he makes water come out of the rock. But since he took credit for it, and didn't give due credit to God, the Almighty got royally pissed off, and Moses was barred from heaven. Bummer.)  
  
"I mean, um, we do if you *you* say it, great one."  
  
"Excuse me?" I asked.  
  
"I mean, Great One."  
  
"Thank you. Now everybody, go to the computer room. In a second – I love the music on this DirecTV commercial. He he...it's like detective music!"  
  
The threesome (um, bad word when Yuffie's involved – 'the trio') made its way down to the computer room. Within sat a great hulking database, in the midst of which dwelt a screen; in the screen was a face.  
  
"I AM AM," declared the computer, through its multiple subwoofers.  
  
"You am am?" asked Yuffie, thoroughly confused.  
  
"I AM AM, YOU FLESHY BAG OF REGURGITATED MUCOUS."  
  
The ninja lifted an eyebrow. "I didn't know there was a 'u' in mucus."  
  
"IT'S MUCOUS, YOU OILY ORGANIC SLIME-SAC."  
  
Cid frowned at the machine. "When the fuck did you get installed?"  
  
"LAST YEAR, YOU STEAMING HUNK OF ANIMATED CARRION."  
  
Yuffie immediately made the connection that Vincent did: "You seem a lot like Moses from South Park."  
  
The computer frowned. "I AM NOTHING LIKE THAT FLAMING FART-FACE. I JUST DESIRE...MACARONI PICTURES."  
  
Vincent lifted an eyebrow. "Macar – "  
  
"MACARONI PICTURES!"  
  
"Fine, fine." Yuffie produced a macaroni picture from her pocket. "Good as new!"  
  
The mastercomputer glanced down at it, sniffed it, and ate it in one giant gulp. "MMM. TASTY."  
  
"Where'd you get that thing?" asked Vincent of his ninja companion.  
  
"I make 'em for FUN!" she replied.  
  
The gothic gunman contemplated for a moment; then a turned to Cid and declared a profound philosophical statement:  
  
"We know the STUPIDEST people."  
  
"What was that, fucker?" came the reply. "I was lighting this fucking joint...fucking thing won't fucking catch FIRE! OW, MY FUCKING FINGER!"  
  
"Never mind..."  
  
"MMM. GLUEY. I SHALL DO AS I YOU ASK. AS LONG AS YOU DO ONE OTHER THING FOR ME."  
  
"What?" asked Yuffie. "More macaroni?"  
  
"NO. PULL MY FINGER."  
  
Vincent scratched his head. "You don't have fingers."  
  
"BWAHAHAHAAAA. I KNOW. FOOLISH ORGANIC PUS-BAG. NOW WHAT DO YOU WANT."  
  
"Cid needs to see an abomination," explained Yuffie.  
  
"AN ABOMINATION. GASP."  
  
"I know. But, erm, shouldn't you sound, like, emotional when you have...emotions?"  
  
"NO. I AM LIKE YUNA. I CAN ONLY SPEAK IN ONE ROBOTIC VOICE NO MATTER HOW I FEEL."  
  
"Bummer, dude. So let's see an Abomination."  
  
"ANALYZING. YOU BETTER CLEAN MY MONITOR ONCE YOU'RE DONE, YOU CARBON-BASED PROTOZOAN OF A MORON. BA-DOOP." He was gone.  
  
"That was fucked up," postulated Cid. Yuffie agreed, limiting her own statement to 'fuck'. Vincent got online and found one of the abominations. He had, woefully, become rather adept at locating them. 'xPlosive Plezzr'. Whatever the hell that means.  
  
Cid sat down at the computer and began reading...  
  
***** ***** ***** ***** *****  
  
'It was a dark and stormy night. Cid was flying the Highwind around the planet and killing things.'  
  
Wow, thought Cid, this fucker's got my number!  
  
'One day, he got bored of killing things and flying so he decided to go visit Vincent. He went to Nilbehim and into the Shinra Mansion. It was very Scary and dark. So he was afraid.'  
  
Afraid my fucking ASS! thought Cid.  
  
'But then he heard a soothing voice like velvet say "Cid". It was Vincent. "Hi Cid," said Vincent. And suddenly Cid realized that he loved Vincent. So he sayed to Vincent, "Vincent, I love you so please have love with me." And Vincent said "Yes I love you too very much so let's have love too!"'  
  
Fuck, thought Cid, guy sure shouldn't skimp on his fucking vocab lessons.  
  
He lifted an eyebrow.  
  
Hold the fuck up...why am I fucking saying that I wanna fuck Vincent?  
  
The other eyebrow followed its kin.  
  
Fucking geez!  
  
'In a second they were naked and they bit each other's nipples like sweet Canadian bacon. Cid said, "I like your nipples very much!" and Vincent said "I like you're nipples to!" and they kept biting they're nipples. Then they got bored of nippular biting and they looked at each other's hunky German sossages and said "WOW you have a big sossage" to each other.'  
  
Cid was both pissed off and curiously aroused by the subject matter and grossly ungrammatical content juxtaposed in the idiotic tale. In any case, he kept reading, as if by – divine decree.  
  
Slowly, line by line, he was horrified. By the time the meaning of 'xPlosive Plezzur' was made clear, his pants were soaked. I would go into more detail, then I'd have to kill you.  
  
If you didn't kill yourself first.  
  
***** ***** ***** ***** *****  
  
Vincent was playing 'Let's Get it On' when Cid returned to the bridge. This time, I had the brilliant idea to look up the lyrics before I made them up; so the gunman was on 'I've been really tryin, baby' by the time the pilot proper was back.  
  
"Cid?" he tried, getting no response. "Cid?"  
  
Cid stared back at him. "Vinshent, you shtupid fucker."  
  
"Cid. Shid, or yule ride?"  
  
"Fucker!"  
  
"Cum down, Shid."  
  
"GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH, FUCKEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEERRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!" Cid jumped his companion and started tearing at his throat, trying to kill him before he tried 'funny things' with his 'sossage'. There was a short, sweaty struggle, and the pilot ended up bleeding and cursing on the cold steel floor. He wept.  
  
***** ***** ***** ***** *****  
  
Wow. Chapter seven is done.  
  
Sorry it took so long. I was working on my book on and off, as well as a screenplay and my latest story (it's about a reformed alien criminal who's doing a million hours of community service as recompense for the ultimate crime on his planet – vegicide). My multitudinous literary forays are all cancelling each other out on my 'to do' lists, and plus I just got my two soundtrack orders in the mail – HALO and American McGee's Alice. Both kick ass.  
  
The Passion of the Christ came out today. Haven't seen it yet, but I shall. Maybe it'll be mentioned in chapter eight...until then, woot. Review this one. 


	8. Dude, Where's the Plot?

Four Feathers by DJ666  
  
Whee. Chapter eight. What will happen? You tell me. In any case, I want more of the sexing. I seem to have said that I'll reference that Passion movie here, so I shall. Anyway, here I sit. Wasting time, trying to think of subject matter for chapter eight.  
  
Woot. Chapter eight.  
  
Um, yeah.  
  
....  
  
Yeah.  
  
Content: Sex. Expletives. Drug use. Violence. And, for Kapen Youth, more 'sossagae'. Dunno what else, so watch out, there.  
  
Disclaimer: I have a humongous penis.  
  
Chapter Eight: Dude, Where's the Plot?  
  
"Man," Yuffie groaned, "I need a vacation."  
  
Vincent stared at her, dumbfounded. "How the hell can you need a vacation? You don't have a job! Do you even go to school?"  
  
The ninja shook her head. "I need a vacation FROM my vacation."  
  
The vampire, in turn, shook his head – this time in disgust. "That line is so overused that the Norwegian word 'forpult' probably qualifies as a legitimate descriptor."  
  
Essay Questions:  
  
Directions: Please answer in one to two paragraphs of five sentences or more. Use complete sentences with correct capitalization and punctuation. Please use cursive and blue or black ink.  
  
Does Norwegian even EXIST on The Planet? Is it just me, or does that name sound like a bad character name rip-off of Kill Bill? If Norwegian does exist on The Planet, when did Vincent learn it? If it doesn't, HOW THE HELL IS VINCENT SPEAKING IT?!?!?! Why is Vincent calling the vacation-from-vacation joke 'overfucked'? Why am I putting quiz questions in the middle of my story?  
  
You have twenty minutes to answer all six questions. You may begin.  
  
Yuffie sat up in her chair. "Let's see a movie!"  
  
Vincent frowned. "Do movies even exist on – The Planet?"  
  
Cid nodded. "They sure as fuck do! 'Member that fucking 'Loveless' thing?"  
  
"But that wasn't a movie, was it?"  
  
"I dun fucking know."  
  
Yuffie was uncomprehending of this entire conversation, engaged as she was in thinking of a good movie to see. "Hey, I got one! Let's go see The Passion of the Christ!"  
  
Cid shook his head. "I dunno, fucker. It got a fucking good review from Gay Bondage Freak Magazine."  
  
Vincent lifted the periodical from the pilot's hands. "Yeah, any movie that gets nine boners up from GBF mag probably wouldn't entertain us. Listen to this: 'GBF critics particularly enjoyed the scene in which a tall bald man in a soldier's uniform strips James Caviezel down to a loincloth, chains him to a short stump and whips him.'"  
  
There was a moment of stunned silence.  
  
"That sounds pretty hot, actually." Yuffie was touching her chest lightly. Then, a second later, she glanced at Cid warily.  
  
"Why are you reading Gay Bondage Freak magazine?"  
  
Suddenly, all six eyes turned on Cid. The pilot himself turned his eyes backwards in order to look at his brain. Vincent had his rifle out and pointed at the foul-mouthed mechanic's head. "Cid..."  
  
He broke down. "The fucking abomination, it fucked me up, AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!! Can't stop fucking thinking – every time I see a fucking bratwurst I go fuckwad – fucking Canadian bacon – FDSJKLFDSAJF!!!!!!!!"  
  
Vincent made to restrain his companion, but the pilot shied away, shouting, "Fucking get the FUCK away from me, fucker! Leave me with my fucking joints. Get a fucking good draaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaag. Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck....."  
  
Thoroughly stoned, Cid sank into a deep stupor. Vincent tried firing Death Penalty off right next to his head; Yuffie tried smacking him with her 'love fruit'. He seemed comatose; at the very least, catatonic.  
  
"Hey," the young ninja said, "we never gave Cid a feather! No one will know he's a part of the team..."  
  
Vincent stroked his chin. "Hrm. He's read an abomination, helped us on our quest, agreed to fight with us, gotten the shit stoned out of him and gone completely insane. How could someone NOT know he's a part of the team?"  
  
In any case, Yuffie pulled an eagle feather out of – I dunno, somewhere – and jammed it into the middle of Cid's scalp. There, protruding higher than any of the horns given him by bass guitar strikes, stood the proud feather, the mark of his fraternity. Satisfied, the Wutaian stepped back and gazed affectionately upon his face.  
  
"You touch that joint, you lose a hand," said Vincent. Always a step ahead...  
  
Upper Sector Five was a very interesting place. One couldn't take three steps without touching something kosher; the street-lamps were electric menorahs; and everything was written in Yiddish. Or Hebrew. I can never tell which one! Plus, I always get the two confused. Like, do they speak Yiddish, or Hebrew? WHY THE HELL DOESN'T EVERYONE JUST SPEAK ENGLISH???????!!!!!!!!!  
  
In any case, I love Hebrew letters. The little blocky things at the tops and the way the lines get thin at the bottom. The cool thingies that are vowels, but like, not part of the word. I mean, it just kicks ass.  
  
(As a side note, I have a Jewish classmate, and he was talking about Judaism to the religion class. He said that it's possible to write Hebrew without vowels. Another of my classmates was quick enough to boast that 'We could have English without vowels!'. Such is the nature of my existence.)  
  
(As a side note to the side note, it's impossible to have English without vowels. All English words have at least one vowel. Except for 'nth'.)  
  
(As a side note to the side note to the side note, 'nth' is the only English word without a vowel.)  
  
(As long as we're on the topic of linguistic loopholes, 'cleave' is the only English word with two contradictory definitions: 'to bind' and 'to separate'.)  
  
(We're not really giving a crap about the story anymore, so – just in case you forgot, I have a titanic unit.)  
  
Now, back to the story-like collection of words! SWOOSH!  
  
TITANIC, I SAY!  
  
So anyway, the Highwind set down in Upper Sector Five. Because of the intense concentration of Jews in the southern portion of the township, the trio was forced to land in the Russian section. The blimp touched down, crushing a few ghetto shanties and some statues of Saddam Hussein, in docking bay Three-backwards N-Z-backwards R-9-some kind of octopus. As soon as they ventured forth, they were assailed by some guy with a pointy mustache.  
  
"How much money do you have?" he asked them eagerly. They looked at each other. "I got a dollar eighty-nine," Vincent said; "I got a twenty and three ones," Yuffie offered; Cid said he needed to get to a fucking ARM. I mean, ATM.  
  
"Is very bad, yes! All should have same money! Communism saves you from poverty, good for all!" The man laughed. "Look! Chernobyl so rich, we have radiation to spare! Even I have three penis!"  
  
Vincent stared evilly at the stranger. "If communism is so great, why are you all poor, oppressed and scared of being killed at any second by secret police?"  
  
"Scared? Me?" The man laughed nervously. "I am not scared. I am in fact very yes RUNRUNRUN THE SPETZNAZ ARE HERE RUN THE PREMIER IS GAAAAAAAAAAAAAH, I AM SHOT! I AM SHOT! FLEE! FLEE! ZN3RK! ZN333333333333333RRRK!"  
  
Vincent laid down some suppressing fire for no reason; Yuffie made like Bruce Lee and screamed weirdly as Cid masterfully got stoned. But then from nowhere razor-sharp Stars of David flew boomerang-style into the trees and sliced eighteen people in half. Looking around, the vampire caught sight of three men in street clothes, bearing an emblem of a hammer and sparking star on their shoulders. The three shuriken flew back at them and were deftly caught.  
  
"That'll teach them to mess with Maccabeus."  
  
They all turned about, but Cid began stonedly yelling at them. "Yo, fuckers! Fuck-ers! Fuck, YO!"  
  
The tallest and mightiest of them spun and swiftly grasped Cid's throat. "What did you call me?" he asked, his voice a low growl. "What did you call me?"  
  
Cid gave him some intense eyebrow action before answering: "FUCKERS!!!"  
  
"I will tell you something," the warrior said, and his death-grip tightened. "I will not kill you. I will maim you. I will make you live a life of misery. And I shall love your woman before your very eyes."  
  
"You don't even know who the fuck my woman IS," Cid pointed out. Maccabeus lifted an eyebrow, considering for a moment.  
  
"I have connections," he insisted.  
  
There was a moment of silence.  
  
"Damn it, I said connections and I MEAN connections. I am JUDAS MACCABEUS."  
  
Yuffie jumped up and down. "You're Judas Maccabeus?!?!?!" she asked fretfully. The warrior eyeballed her warily. "Did I not say, just THREE SECONDS AGO, that I am JUDAS MACCABEUS?"  
  
The ninja stopped hopping. "So, you are?"  
  
"Am I what, royally pissed off and just about ready to chop your head off?"  
  
"No, are you Judas Maccabeus?"  
  
I decided this joke was getting old, so at this point Vincent shoved Yuffie aside and laid out their business easily. "My name is Vincent Valentine."  
  
All the Jewish rebels snickered, 'Valentine'.  
  
"I'm one of the Turks."  
  
All the Jewish rebels snickered, 'Is he from Turkey?'  
  
"And I'm looking for Jim McDonald."  
  
Nobody snickered at that. Maccabeus grimaced and his troops went pale at the mention of the name. And then, with a sweep of his black cloak, Judas turned about and walked out of the hangar. "Go back to wherever you came from!" he shouted. "Stay away from that thing! He's a demon!"  
  
"He wrote about me!" Vincent yelled in return.  
  
At that, the man stopped dead in his tracks; the ends of his cap fluttered forward with inertia. Slowly, gravely, he turned back to face this damned thing, this victim of overactive, hormonally-imbalanced imagination. "You are a doomed man, Turkish Valentine. I pity you, truly, but I cannot help. JM is beyond aid or retribution – the Merovingian grants him impunity."  
  
"We have bypassed that particular barrier," Vincent insisted. "Tell me where he is! I will seek him out."  
  
Maccabeus' face went dead and slack. Then, with a trembling jaw, he looked teary-eyed at our protagonist.  
  
"I will tell you a story," he said. "Jim's real name is not Jim. It was – Eagle."  
  
"It was fifteen years ago. The summer had been a particularly hot one, what with the rumblings of the war that I would soon come to lead. It reminded us of our forty years of wandering in the desert, led by the great pillar of smoke and flame that was our Lord."  
  
Yuffie interrupted: "Hey, in Hindu mythology Shiva becomes a big pillar of fire too, but that's his humongous penis." (It's a true part of the Indian mythology. There was a contest of these two gods to see who was stronger: one became a stork, flying into the heavens; the other became a hippopotamus, diving to the depths of the sea. Shiva got fed up and became a giant flaming penis. The stork couldn't find its top; the hippo couldn't find its bottom; Shiva was the greatest. Because he had a penis like mine.)  
  
"Well, uh, Shiva isn't real and Adonai is.  
  
"Anyway, that year I was a young man, and boisterous. The smell of pork from the Russian district was maddening, and I will admit that I was driven to weakness. I wanted to taste the ham. Its scent was delicious, impossibly sweet, like some – sweet, delicious, hammy thing. And then I saw her; by my Adonai, I did see her.  
  
"Gael.  
  
"She was a thing of Irumea. Hair the color of...sunburnt camel poop; eyes like fire. And papushkas like nothing you've ever seen – I mean, 'melons' does not begin to describe these things. More like..."  
  
"Pink party balloons?" Cid offered.  
  
"Thank you. They were great, and verily were they perfect; and it seemed to me at that instant that this was the greatest ham known to all beings. I had to pork this thing!  
  
"Therefore did I seek to do so. I came up behind her, swift as a shadow that flees the noonday sun. And I said to her, "Let us seek shade in that glade, my fair Irumean maid." And she did come with me.  
  
"It seems to me now that she was indeed an agent of Macedon, but I thought not of that for I was smitten. Certainly she thought to slay my father Mattathias, and my brothers, but I tossed caution to the winds and took her to a spot beside a pond I knew.  
  
"We began the foreplay. I removed my shirt, and she began to stroke my chest as though I was a frightened lamb that needs comfort from a shepherd. I began to feel my erection growing. So I made to remove Gael's shirt, but just then I heard a splash.  
  
"She asked me what it was; "Some fish" said I. But it was not. Nay, it twastn't.  
  
"Twas Eagle.  
  
"He was in a small boat, with his cousin."  
  
Yuffie started at that. "He has a family!"  
  
Vincent caught on quickly enough: "We'll blackmail his bitch ass."  
  
"No – no family anymore. Let me go on.  
  
"Eagle and Beagle were fishing; one had just cast, and now he had a bite. They were both trying to reel it in, for it was mighty, and suddenly – aghast! For Beagle had been tossed for the boat. Eagle was shocked, as were Gael and I – but Beagle did return. Yea, he returned – and in his hand he clutched a thing. A great, terrible thing. For in his clutchety hobbit hand he did hobbitly and handily clutch – Final Fantasy VII.  
  
"It is a tale – a tale of travelers. They must go across the land to save it from a great evil."  
  
Vincent scratched his head. "Wow, it sounds remarkably like every other RPG ever made. What's so great about it?"  
  
"ABSOLUTELY NOTHING! And yet it consumes people. Turns their lives into nothingness. And turned Eagle into a mad thing. It was his birthday, and he said, 'Beagle, my love, give us that. I wants it for my birthday.' And Beagle said, 'Nay, for did I not find it? It is mine.'  
  
"And then, to my horror, Eagle sprang upon his cousin and throttled him. Gael and I watched, horrified by the horrible horror of it, as Beagle turned pink, then red, then purple, then blue, then some kind of multi- faceted fuschia, like some kind of gay extravaganza was playing across his throttled mug. And verily was he smoted.  
  
"But the horror did not end there. This was like the Exorcist movies: there was one really disturbing one, and then a crapload of horrible ones. Here the horror continued.  
  
"Eagle took the thing that had made him kill his cousin. He took it home, and I followed. Verily did he place it within his crappy Playstation one, and he played it. He played it for fifty-five hours straight. Every sidequest was completed, every foe vanquished, every subplot uncovered, ever secret character unlocked, every chocobo bred, every materia found – he was like a machine! 99999999 gil, my friends. I never thought it possible. He maxed his stats like a beast – 9 characters at level 99, all stats at 255...it was madness. He had been driven insane.  
  
"His mother, disgusted by his laziness, cursed him and drove him from the house. He was given a new name – Jim McDonald – that he might find a home away from them. He was set to wandering, but recall that he was not a man, but a boy!  
  
"He became horny.  
  
"Very horny.  
  
"Like a Northeastern reticulated chipmunk in heat.  
  
"And he wrote. Perverted things he wrote, of the characters of the game. And now you see the horror of it, my friend Valentine – for the characters were real.  
  
"They were you."  
  
GASPTASTIC.  
  
"What do you mean?!" Vincent shouted. "What're you getting at?"  
  
"Precisely what I said, Valentine," Maccabeus answered. "The game's characters were real people, stolen from life and made immortal in crappy, low-res pixilated form, devoid of mouths or intestines."  
  
"But who would do something like that?" Yuffie asked, fearful.  
  
"SHINRA."  
  
Cid raised an eyebrow stonedly. "The fuckin' SHINRA? No fuck!"  
  
"Yes. Shinra." And then the brilliance of it all struck him, and Vincent keeled over. "Shinra:  
  
"Square Headquarters In Not-Real Areas."  
  
Yuffie's eyes widened in shock. "'Not-Real Areas'...what is this, the Matrix?"  
  
"Oh, no, my dear," Maccabeus explained. "You see – "  
  
"Okay, you know what, I'm tired of randomized exposition shit," Vincent decided. "I want a house with a number on it, and a high-caliber automatic weapon. I need an address."  
  
Maccabeus rubbed his grizzly chin for a while, and then lifted his head in agreement. "Very well," he said. "My three best men will escort you thither. Malachi. Mordecai. Bob." Three machine-gun-toting, yarmulke- wearing, Sopranos-esque gunmen stepped forward. "Farewell. I hope that you may find luck in your endeavour – by never meeting JM at all. Godspeed."  
  
"I thank you, Judas called Maccabeus. It was an honor to meet you, and I am grateful for your manpower and information." Vincent bowed low; Yuffie followed suit. Cid was already dropping into unconsciousness due to all the pot he'd smoked throughout the narrative. The leader of the Jews bowed in return; and all parted well.  
  
"Follow me," Mordecai bade them. "The Abyss is in waiting."  
  
And thus does chapter eight meet its end.  
  
Judas Maccabeus was a real person. He lived around 160 BC and led a rebellion against the tyrannical government imposed on Israel by Alexander the Great. The holiday of Hanukkah celebrates his cleansing of the temple after it had been ransacked by pagans. I use him here because the book of Maccabees is cool.  
  
So now you know: Final Fantasy VII was created by Shinra, actually an extension of Square (Square-Enix, whatever); they took the lives of real people, animated them badly in a stereotypical RPG environment, and let them run amok. But why, you may ask, why? And I tell you:  
  
42.  
  
Yeah. It'll be explained in chapter forty-two.  
  
Pizzeace. Out.  
  
Oh, and BTW – the gang might be getting back together at some point. 


	9. We come to it at last

Four Feathers by DJ666  
  
And we come to chapter nine. Chapter eight turned out to be extremely important, so go back and reread it if you think that I care about any continuity subject at all. If something doesn't make sense, you should all know by now:  
  
A wizard did it.  
  
In any case, we finally have an address; or at least, we have Malachi, Mordecai and Bob leading us to Jim's house. This may include a confrontation – though not at all a final one – with JM himself. Expect a firefight. With actual fire. And fighting.  
  
Content: Violence. Sex. Geekiness.  
  
Disclaimer: PEANUT BUTTER JELLY TIME!  
  
Chapter Nine: We Come to It at Last

"...the great battle of our time."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Yuffie, Cid – get ready. I fear that Jim McDonald may try to kill us if he discovers our intentions." Vincent racked Death Penalty's well-oiled bolt, with some satisfaction. "I can feel it in my bones; my honor is soon to be restored."  
  
"Would you shut the fuck up?" Cid asked. "Fuck, I just wanna fucking get stored and you're all like, 'Fuck, I gotta restore my honor, blah blah blah, fuck'. Kind of a killer, wouldn't you fucking think so?"  
  
"You should be quiet," Mordecai warned. "We draw near even now."  
  
They were indeed close; before them stood a mighty building that looked precisely the way a pervert's house should look.  
  
"This is it."  
  
Many-pillared. Dark-windowed. Hot pink. Laden with sausage. All of these things described the great Romanesque mansion that rose from the earth in front of them like a thick, fleshy phallus pulsing with repointed brick veins. The place had an oppressive air to it, like – fascist Germany. One got the feeling that if you got too close, a demonic jack-in-the-box would shoot out of the bushes and set you on fire with the power of its coulrophobic...uh, power.

Has anybody seen the new Britney Spears video, 'Everytime'? 'Slutwhorebitch' doesn't even begin to cut it. 

"Be careful," insisted Mordecai. "There may be traps."  
  
Vincent pointed to himself. "Dude, I'm a vampire. Super-undead reflexes, you see."  
  
"You appear to be stepping in dog poop."  
  
"I've got more important things on my mind. Like Cid. Stop that."  
  
Cid was trying to get high, again. It seemed that the abomination had necessitated the pilot's constant highness, because whenever he wasn't stoned off his ass he would be having nightmares. Every damned day, Vincent would wake up to the shrieks of "Ah, cobras! CO-BRAAAAAAAAAAAAAS!"  
  
Weapons at the ready, the troupe edged its way forward, inch by inch. The attack dogs in the driveway were sleeping serenely, showing no signs of aggression; so Vincent quickly snapped their necks in rapid succession.  
  
"Vinnie, you really need to stop killing stuff for no reason," Yuffie said.  
  
"Yuffie, you really need to shut up," he replied. "I killed them. Okay? And now I'm gonna go kill something else. Because I like it. I like it like Lucretia, roller coasters and pecan pie, all at the same time. Have you ever had sex with a pecan pie at seven gees? It's like killing someone. It's goddamned amazing. Try it sometime. I have a Jim McDonald to kill."  
  
"NO!" shouted a deep voice.  
  
Vincent lifted an eyebrow inquisitorially. "Yes."  
  
"NO!" shouted a deep voice once again.  
  
"Yes!"  
  
"NO!"  
  
"Yes!  
  
"NO!"  
  
"YES!"  
  
"NO!"  
  
"YES!"  
  
"NO!"  
  
"FINE!" Vincent shouted at last. "Send Jim out to us! Now!"  
  
"I can't!" replied the voice.  
  
"This is ridiculous," the gunman muttered to Yuffie. "Why not? Who are you?"  
  
"I am..." The voice faltered. "I am Jim's father. I am Ronald."  
  
Vincent groaned. "Ronald."  
  
"McDonald," the voice finished.  
  
"Ronald McDonald. Fantastic. Whaddaya got for me, Ron?"  
  
"I cannot surrender my son to you! You will kill him!"  
  
Vincent was getting impatient. "Very perceptive of you, sir. But do you know what your son does? He writes smut!"  
  
"It's called 'erotica'. He-LLO!"  
  
"He writes it about me! I own the legal rights to my genitalia, and he used it without my permission! He needs to be punished."  
  
"I don't care what he did with your genitalia, he's my son and I won't let you hurt him!"  
  
Vincent grunted in loud frustration. "Damn it, I want that kid dead and I want him dead NOW."  
  
Yuffie stepped up at this point, slightly irked at her companion's display of brutish anger. "Vinnie, Vinnie, Vinnie," she purred. "You can't just yell at the guy. He needs someone to be there for him. He's a very feely kind of guy, you can tell by the way he loves his baby boy. You need to be sensitive, Vincent. Like me. I think this needs a woman's touch."  
  
"Yuffie, are you planning to get freaky with Ronald McDonald?"  
  
"Yes, Vincent. Yes, I am. But just remember, Vinnie – I'm fucking that demented clown FOR YOU."  
  
The shinobi considered for a moment, then shouted: "We need to negotiate!"  
  
"YES!" the voice agreed. "We need to do this mouth-to-mouth! I mean, face- to-face." It cut off and added awkwardly, "Uh, you pick. Send to me the hottest member of your party!"  
  
"Go on, Vincent," Cid prodded him. "That means you."  
  
Everyone turned around to look at Cid.  
  
"Are you okay, man?" Vincent had his gun out and was pointing it at the pilot's head. He didn't look stoned. "You didn't say 'fuck' in any way, shape or form there. And you just called me hot."  
  
"Oh," realized Cid. "Fuck. FUCK. FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK. Fucking better, sossagae man? Do your fucking nipples taste like Canadian bacon, fucker? FUCK! THE FUCKING ABOMINATION FUCKED ME UP!"  
  
"Do you see?" Vincent shouted. "Do you see? You've driven Cid insane! He can't even live his life anymore, now that he's read one of those Cid/Vin slash thingies. YOUR SON DESTROYED THIS MAN'S LIFE."  
  
"Fine. Just send a negotiator."  
  
"Yuffie..."  
  
She turned around to look at Vincent.  
  
"Godspeed."

The path was twisting and gnarled, overgrown with vines, but that did not stop Yuffie. She struck the porch; knocked twice.  
  
And the door opened. 

And it was at that instant that Reno, looking quite breathless, hacking and wheezing, tapped Vincent's shoulder. The vampire turned about to find a dying Turk smoking a cigarette at his feet.  
  
"Jesus...gotta...hurgh...stop...smoking. Lungs...black...tar...sticky...death...imminent."  
  
The vampire considered what to say, and settled on, "Need a light?"  
  
"Unh...yeah...hook me up with some...flames...oooohhh..."  
  
"So, Mr. Nevada. What brings a young new Turk to the center of Midgardian Judaeism?"  
  
Reno had collapsed on his back, clutching his chest and weakly puffing on the cigarette flopping from his lips. He was gazing blankly up at the sky, and finally wheezed, "Don't...go...in."  
  
"Don't need to," Vincent answered easily. "We sent Yuffie."  
  
"NO!" the Turk gasped. "Not...Yuffie...bad."  
  
"What the fuck's wrong?" Cid inquired, his own smoke filling the air about his head. "Little fucker's gonna get us that bitch Jim fuck and we're gonna kill the fucker! Yee-fuckety-HAW!"  
  
"Hold onto your garters, Sundance Cid," Vincent remarked drily. "I'm not afraid of blasting one of those horns right off your head." The vampire turned back to the dying assassin. "Say, where's uh, Mr. Polite, there?

"R…Rude…gone…back…house…trapdoor…punji sticks..."  
  
"The fuck, say again, all I heard was something about Rude sticking it in the back door," Cid supplied.  
  
"Dear gods," Vincent realized. "Rude...he was stuck in a trap trying to sneak up on the house. Yuffie is in mortal danger!"  
  
"Ye fuckin' GADS," the foul-mouthed pilot ejaculated. He he...ejaculated. It's not supposed to be dirty, but it is!

"Hello?" Yuffie called out. "Is anyone here?"  
  
"I am here."  
  
At a table sat a man. He was fat, and it seemed that all the hair on his head had been transplanted to the rest of his body. He was holding a garden hose. "What's happening, hot stuff?"  
  
"Shut up, you misogynistic bastard, and get on with the dousing. My young, supple breasts are not to be kept waiting."  
  
"I was talking to him," he explained. Yuffie turned around to find herself face to face with an honest-to-God Balrog of Morgoth. Durin's motherfucking BANE. The thing roared, and the ninja's eyebrows caught aflame; a quick douse from Ronald McDonald put them to steam.  
  
"Why don't you cool your heels for a little while with a bit of whisky?" Ronald suggested. He pulled out two shot glasses of yellowish liquid; one had some pills in the bottom, powder on the top and a couple of thirteen- inch-long hypodermic needles floating around in it. He put the crackwhore's dream in front of him and pushed the normal beverage towards his guest. "Please, drink up."  
  
Yuffie carefully glanced at both glasses. At long last she widened her eyes and shrieked, "Ohmygod, look over there – a diversion!", pointing wildly over Ron's shoulder. As he spun about to follow her gaze, the shinobi grabbed the two glasses and switched them around. Her host turned back warily. "I didn't see anything."  
  
"Nothing," she replied, "just some Puerto Rican guy. Cheers." They lifted their glasses and downed them, Ron choking a bit as the hypodermics went down sideways. Then, Yuffie felt a bit woozy, and realized that something was very wrong.  
  
"Ronald, pray tell me: are there usually three of you present at one time?" she asked.  
  
"I'm sorry, miss, but one of me is missing. It's usually four, I swear it."  
  
And then it struck her like a 400-pound linebacker on 'roids:  
  
"You drugged your own drink." Even as she accusatorially lifted the Mighty Pointy Finger of Shame, Yuffie's head lolled back on her shoulders and her tongue shot straight up to the ceiling. Ronald McDonald laughed aloud. "You fool," he cried, "you stupid fool!  
  
"They were BOTH drugged!"  
  
He stood and laughed triumphantly.  
  
"Wait, they were laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaghaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaghaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaallllll llllalalalaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaghaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaaagagagaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaaa..." "Okay," Vincent said, "we're going in. Reno, Cid: smoke. A lot."  
  
"Will do," the Turk answered.  
  
"While the lovely pot-smelling smoke wafts through the air, masking our movements and incapacitating Ronald, I shall enter the house and bring Jim to justice." Vincent checked Death Penalty's magazine and slammed it back in. "Are we ready? Lighters."  
  
"Check."  
  
"Cigarettes."  
  
"Check."  
  
"And weapons?"  
  
"Lithuanian."  
  
They all looked at Reno. "It was a joke," he said. "Czech, Czech, Lithuanian. Small European countries, in the – never mind."  
  
"That was really fucking uncool, fucker."  
  
"Yeah. Yeah, it was."  
  
"Okay, everybody shut up, I'm going in. Start smoking."  
  
Vincent sat on a stone as his companions lit up. This story (and Vincent's life) was quickly turning into a surgeon general's nightmare: cigarettes, drugs, alcohol, depravity...the list went on. If only they'd HAD a surgeon general all those years ago. Surgeon General's Warning: Sleeping with the pregnant wife of an insane scientist as he shoots steroids and fluid rock into her fetus is inadvisable; severe depression, chafed penis and living death may initially occur.  
  
FOREVER.  
  
Geez. How long had it been since he'd gotten laid? He'd been...twenty something when he went into the coffin, thirty years since, and two...four, since Sephiroth fell? God, he couldn't remember. The years were blurring, he was getting old, the author was waxing philosophical. It struck Vincent then what was happening:  
  
He was dying.  
  
Not soon, not imminent. But he was mortal. His demons could not save him from death. Would they too die when he passed into oblivion?  
  
No.  
  
"Chaos?"  
  
Yes.  
  
"What are you doing? Whatever it is, LEAVE MY BRAIN ALONE!"  
  
All I'm doing is making you look like a complete jackass.  
  
Vincent slapped his head when he realized that his friends had been sitting there, smoking, as he screamed "LEAVE MY BRAIN ALONE!" to the thin air. He explained the situation and resumed the conversation.  
  
"So what do you want?"  
  
Nothing, really. I was getting a bit lonely up here.  
  
"Don't you have three demons up there to keep you company?"  
  
Oh, yeah: Baby Blue, Frankenstunned and Leatherface-Ripoff-Man. Great company, bud.  
  
"Not my fault."  
  
Hey, Vince, listen up: women do not just fuck themselves, okay, someone's gotta do it for them.  
  
The vampire considered that statement and tactfully replied, "Have I introduced you to Yuffie Kisaragi?"  
  
Oh, crap.  
  
"What?"  
  
Someone's saying something to you. And indeed, it appeared that Reno was trying to communicate with Vincent. Quick, nod and act like you know what the hell's going on.  
  
"SHUT UP!" shouted the Gothic gunman, heavily offended.  
  
"WELL SORRY VINCENT, BUT WE NEED TO GET THIS SHOW ON THE ROAD!" Reno spat back.  
  
"Oh, you're right. Sorry." The sniper held Death Penalty at the ready and crept forth. "Here we go."  
  
He plunged into the smoke. Inside, Jim shouted to his parents. "Daddy! Mommy! Where's my socks? Daddy?"  
  
The fattish forty-year-old, balding and oily and preoccupied with KFC food, scampered down the stairs to find his father, a supple Yuffie Kisaragi, and Durin's Bane sitting at the dining room table, out cold with drugs in their veins. A joint poked out of the Balrog's mouth, constantly going out and relighting itself due to the heat of the creature's body. And Jim realized that just outside, right then, would be Vincent Valentine himself, doubtless bearing a well-oiled and full-loaded Death Penalty, his dark bangs falling before his face and scarlet raiment sweeping about him, his figure like that of Red Death.  
  
The writer scampered upstairs, grabbed his precious belongings: first the laptop, then the PlayStation, then the game itself. He could hear his mother's voice in his head, shouting, "Did you pack clean underwear, sweetie? You always forget clean underwear. I won't let you go around with schmutz in your yarbles, okay, so you be sure to pack clean underwear. And leave those dirty magazines at home, or your underwear will be covered in schmutz too soon." And that reminded him to pack clean underwear, as well as some po – uh, erotica. For inspiration. He slung it all over his shoulder, hobo style, and made for the Merovingian's chateau. Vincent found his path hopeless. The smoke obscured everything on the property; Reno and Cid were remarkably efficient at getting stoned together. "Damn it!" he shouted, irked at his inability to find the house.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
A voice called out from the smog. Vincent groped out and caught a balding guy by the shoulders. "Hey, could you help me, here? I need to get to the McDonald house."  
  
"Uh, yeah," the guy said. "It's just up ahead, keep going straight – Vincent Valentine?"  
  
"Jim McDonald?"  
  
They regarded each other in silence for several moments.  
  
And then Jim shrieked like a little girl as he waddled away, clinging to his hobo-sack. The vampire lifted his weapon to fire, but found his path blocked as a new face swam into view...  
  
"Vincent?" wondered Reeve. 

Oooh, creepy. Five people stoned out of their wits and Vincent about to kill someone…who could have seen that one coming? No battles…well, not yet. The Balrog has yet to wake up.

Um, what's up for the next chapter? Good question. I think the gang will be together now…not much else I know. The randomness is so random even I don't know what the hell's going on.

Oh, yeah. Sorry about the breakup of the story, but this new-fangled system won't keep my cool little asterisk-line-thingies up there, so it's all screwed over, and the spaces won't stick at all so it just runs together. Trust me, I'm working on it, but I'm trying to get a chapter up post haste, so here it is.


	10. Completely Random Conglomerations of Poi...

Four Feathers by DJ666

Okay, so I thought there'd be a firefight, and there wasn't. But Durin's Bane is still there! Jim escaped, though...too bad. I guess that means I'll have to write more FUNNY SPACE-FILLING THINGIES!!!

You know. Chapters.

In fact, I have no plot left to develop. I have written myself into a corner of the most roundabout story in existence. Like George Lucas and the Wachowski bros, I have screwed up an unscrewupable story. In that case, there is only one way to continue this crap until the revelatory chapter forty-two:

Completely random conglomerations of pointless shit that is funny.

Wait, that's what the story is already...that's how it started! I didn't write myself into a corner! NICE!

Content: You know, the usual. If you wish to retain what sanity you may still possess, feel free to skip this chapter and wait for the next one. I just watched Madness Combat for a little while, so this is gonna be an action-packed chapter.

Disclaimer: One day, I just know it, some Square-Enix porn freak is going to find this fic and say, "Hey! This guy never wrote real disclaimers! Let's sue him! It's not like Square-Enix has too much money anyway, milking every million they can out of a tired line of RPGs that shouldn't even exist!"

...............

...............

Chapter Ten: Completely Random Conglomerations of Pointless Shit that is Funny

"OW, GODDAMNIT! YOU SHOT ME IN MY FACE!"

"SORRY REEVE, I GOTTA GET THAT GUY!"

There was a harsh moment of silence.

"YOU SHOT ME IN MY FACE!"

Vincent put three more lightning-quick caseless rounds into Reeve's lungs, ensuring that he couldn't bitch anymore without killing himself. The vampire leapt over the crouching form of the official and sprinted into the mist, following the vacuum of air that Jim had left in his passing. He could hear, with his super-undead reflexes, the sound of dead leaves being crunched underneath sprinting feet.

"Stop running!" Vincent yelled, cold air biting his lungs. "I'll catch you anyway!" And with a sudden leap, he lunged forward and tackled the fleeing form in midair. Jim gave a yelp of surprise and pain. Unexpectedly, the vampire's arms wrapped all the way around the bastard's waist; using this to his advantage, Vincent began crushing his torso with the sheer strength of his lithe musculature. But he realized that the resistance was greater than he expected; dropping Death Penalty, he groped upward, reaching for his victim's throat.

_Damn it!_ Vincent thought_. I can't reach past his man-boobs. Why did he have to eat so much KFC?_ The vampire attempted desperately to keep his grip on the target and simultaneously to find his throat. _Well, at least they're not nasty, pudgy man-boobs. These are kinda firm. Shapely. Kid probably has breast cancer._

It was at that instant that Vincent realized what to do: he had to reach into Jim's chest and rip out his heart, a la Indiana Jones™ and the Temple of Doom©. He had just placed his claw in the correct position for heart-ripping, just over the left boob, when he heard the scream: "Vincent, what the HELL are you doing?!?!?!?!"

It was Yuffie.

Vincent took a thirty-second gasp, and then screamed.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO – "

Deep breath.

"– OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!11111!!1!"

"What he said," Yuffie answered. Like a crab, she scuttled out from underneath her companion, kicked him in the chest and rolled to a crouch, clutching her chest protectively. Damn, this soccer commercial has awesome music. Anyway, Vincent knelt up momentarily, gasping for air before he flopped on his back. The cold, crisp oxygen bit at his lungs; and his sides felt as though they'd been pierced with sewing needles. And he was pissed off.

"We missed him."

Vincent shook his head.

"We missed him!"

Slamming his head into the earth, he screamed,

"_WE MISSED HIM!!!_"

He fumed silently. Not only had they lost their quarry, but they had done that which they had most despised: they had interacted sexually. Vincent had betrayed his companion, an innocent eighteen-year-old; he had betrayed Lucretia, his one and only love whom he had sworn to love forever; and he had betrayed himself. The vampire rolled over, smashed the ground with his mechanical fist, and then pulled out his 'To Atone For' list.

Let Lucretia die

Let Hojo nail Lucretia

Let Hojo manipulate Lucretia's baby

Liked 'Snake's Revenge' for the NES

Let anger mutate me and cloud my judgment

Let my 'To Atone For' list get out of hand

Stole Crystal's pot after that 'Black Sabbath' reunion concert

Bought a GameCube just for 'The Twin Snakes'

Did that thing to that guy at that place

Made up more sins to avoid having to get up in the morning

He sighed. There were no checkmarks whatsoever, and now he added:

Groped Yuffie

Lost my prey

Shot Reeve

Left Rude in a trap of punji sticks behind the house

Where the hell is Reno, anyway?

WHEEZE

Such a failure. Such a failure.

"DAMN IT!"

There was an 'I Dream of Genie'-style DING.

"Man. Things sure have gotten outta hand here."

Aeris pushed herself up from Vincent's position on all fours and shrugged the knobs of the bass from digging into her shoulder. The strap was a bit tight around her bust, so she loosened it and grasped the instrument by its neck, keeping it in a weapon-style grip. Her left hand casually tugged at her bangs as she surveyed the situation.

When she saw Yuffie, Aeris chuckled; memories returned of the horns granted by the strikes of the guitar. A quick finger-snap turned the horns into three flaming imps, who flew away chittering and burst into the house in order to link up with the Balrog. Three more, presumably from Cid, followed suit.

"Feel better?"

Yuffie spat towards her arch-nemesis. "Excuse me, bitch. Could you help us find all the penises in the world besides Vincent's? It's like they all just...fell off the face of YOU!"

"You don't have to take out your anger on me," Haruko-Aeris answered, "just because you can't give good head."

"Well," the ninja replied, eyes narrowed in hatred, "I may not give good head. But I sure do give good BUTT!"

Yuffie launched herself at her opponent, Conformer in hand, trying to ram the attacker with her cranium. Aeris hopped to the left and brought the guitar around and up in what would have been a vicious uppercut had the shinobi not parried with her shuriken, tucked into a roll, flipped forward into a spin and landed crouching with her eyes on the bassist.

"Not too bad," Aeris muttered, grimacing and sneering.

"Not too bad yourself," Yuffie whispered.

The ninja hurled her shuriken high and leapt after it, launching herself into the air and kicking straight at the creature's head. The guitar battered the foot aside, inadvertently giving the warrior the leverage she needed to reverse her movement and slam a heel into her opponent's sternum. Aeris dropped, doubled over in agony. Yuffie would have jammed her Conformer into the slut's back had the thing not rolled into her legs and toppled her onto her ass.

In an instant, Aeris was upon her like a spider upon its prey, limbs pinning the joints to the earth. Both had dropped their weapons, useless at this distance, and began locking flesh, clashing sinews like two succubi revealing their demonic power in a struggle for the queendom of hell. Cid and Reno, sharing a cigarette, watched intently. (Oh, THERE he is. Son of a diggity.)

Yuffie wriggled her left arm free and poked her antagonist in the eye; she followed up with an undulating kick that sent the slum whore flying away. Rather than recuperating herself, the shinobi took a knee and hopped forward, driving her thigh through her opponent's legs. Aeris, in turn, propped herself up on one bent leg and drove the other booted heel into Yuffie's back. Waists pressed together, the two struggled awkwardly for a second before clutching at each other: the ninja began compressing her foe's chest while the healer crushed her enemy's head to her bosom. Finding this regrettably inefficient, the magician took a handful of Yuffie's hair and jerked her skull backwards. She leaned her face close to the young warrior's, sneering. "I got more years of Turks CQB experience in here than you could beat with all your ninja training put together."

"Fuck you!" Yuffie retuned, spitting upon Aeris' face. "No – fuck you," the other returned. She ran her tongue across the young woman's flesh, from clavicle to cranium, laughing as she did so. Rather than submitting, the shinobi gritted her teeth and lunged upward, latching onto Aeris' lower lip with her teeth and clamping down as hard as she could. The magician bent further down, reached into her opponent's shorts and tugged up hard on her panties, producing just enough discomfort for Yuffie to stop biting and for Aeris to drop back and kick her in the chin, rolling away and catching her breath as she leaned forward on an elbow.

The ninja took a sumo stance and rotated her pelvis, managing to slip her undergarments into a more comfortable position. In the confused melee, both of their weapons had been kicked aside; to the left lay the shuriken, and to the right the guitar. Their was a John Woo kind of moment: close-ups on the eyes, shifting to either side. And then, as though on cue, both made a mad scramble for the other's tool: Yuffie was unaware of anything but herself as she jumped forward, twisted up from her roll with the guitar in her hands. Aeris was infinitely faster, but she had made a crucial mistake.

She'd swung too soon.

The Conformer passed by Yuffie's head, short by a full twelve inches. The guitar, on the other hand, struck perfectly, neck snapping in two and splintering with the strings wrapping themselves about Aeris' throat. The magician fell back. Then she turned red. Then she turned blue.

And then she turned into a thoroughly confused Vincent.

"Whah the fuh...mah lih huhs lie heh..." He sat up. "Ugh, mah rihs...eh bah...shih." He glanced at Yuffie, sweaty and breathless, standing sumo-style beside him.

"Oo beher hah a WEE fuhin guh ehanashuh fuh thih."

"You turned into Aeris. Again."

"Uh."

Yuffie dragged herself slowly over to her companion's side. "Lie down," she suggested. All too happy to comply, Vincent fell backwards. The ninja leaned over him, frowned momentarily, then grabbed his jacket and tore off the right sleeve. With it she made a bandage of sorts, which he placed over her patient's middle. She considered for a moment, then stretched it out and leaned very close to Vincent. Taking extra care, she snaked a hand beneath him in an effort to wrap it about his midriff. The vampire, looking pale, glanced up at her for a second before she realized the awkward position:

They were just about placed for an intimate kiss.

Indeed, the shinobi was partially embracing her former opponent, and her face was barely inches from his, her sweat dripping onto his cheeks as she worked. Painfully aware of their proximity, she grabbed the other end of the bandage, tied a knot and cinched it tight.

Vincent gasped, sat partially up, then sank back down and lay still. He breathed out slowly, nodded, and muttered a thoroughly miserable 'thah oo'. Now silent, he felt feebly around his waist, comfortably wrapped his fingers around Death Penalty's hilt, and fell blissfully asleep.

Yuffie, crouching at his side, sighed (he he he...sighed at his side...god, I love English). He'd be alright, eventually. The ninja stood, glanced about, found Cid and Reno slumped against one another sharing a cigarette. With much difficulty she tried to move them over to keep watch beside Vincent before realizing it was much easier to simply drag the cadaverous vampire over to them.

She then pressed on through the fog, finding Reeve and his bullet-ridden ass laying facedown on the leaves. Although he could himself walk, it was far more difficult than dragging him, Emma Emmerich-style, to the rest of the group. At last she circled around the house and found Rude, extricating him from his punjified prison with an effort slightly greater than that required to defeat all 25 Metal Gear RAYs in MGS2, had they all been MG REX instead, with Big Boss piloting all of them at once, and Psycho Mantis blowing up your Stingers the second you fired them, and chaff grenades fucking up Gray Fox's exoskeleton the second he tries to help you and the big foot crushes you as MG REX ceases to function. And thus, at long last, everyone was assembled in one place.

The shinobi took a gander about the sorry collection of companions. In the center lay the severely beaten Vincent, and beside him Reeve (having been severely beaten BY Vincent). Around them, staring blindly forward, sat Cid and Reno – nearby, the silent Rude, and lastly herself.

"So."

Those of them still conscious lazily looked at Yuffie. Cid and Reno were certainly stored, and if not then they were certainly in no state to suffer a prolonged conversation. Rude was being Rude – and that was, completely quiet and removed from the conversation.

"Well, don't we look good," Yuffie posed. "I just had to beat the shit out of Aeris, thus totally crapping out Vincent in the process. Cid and Reno, you guys may as well have been shoving tear gas grenades down your throats, since you're about as useful now as you would have been after doing that. Rude, you appear to be bleeding profusely from the punji-induced wounds in your chest."

"I thought I felt an extra navel or two," he softly grumbled.

"Okay, now I hate to say it, but we just missed the object of our homicidal obsession as he escaped. So we need to get up really fast and follow him."

"Why?" Rude asked succinctly.

"Because – "

"No," Cid broke in, "no, FUCK NEG, FUCK NYET, FUCK NEIN, FUCK NOCHO HUEVES, SEÑORITA. I do NOT have the fucking patience for more fucking exposition right now, okay? This is a goddamn action chapter, no fucking talkie-talk, sí?" (Check it out, I just started taking Spanish class. Kickass, huh? My teacher Profesora Fernandez is wicked hot. And the music from the Skateboarding Mission in Metal Gear Solid 2: Substance is so frickin' awesome, it's awesome. Its awesomeosity scares lesser men dickless, I swear. Excuse the profanity, but Metal Gear in all its forms is, frankly, THE BALLS. And as long as we're on the topic, my penis is like the entirety of Yao Ming's body mass, but a penis.)

With the pilot's proclamation that all audio intercourse should be suspended, they found themselves sinking into boredom. But then, Yuffie leapt to her feet with joy and shouted at the top of her lungs, "RONALD MCDONALD!"

"Yeah, I was thinking exactly the same thing," Reno answered. "I'm so hungry I could vomit air."

"No, stupid," the ninja returned, "Jim's dad. We can interrogate him!"

"Presuming he's been quietly sitting in his house with six avowed murderers on his lawn for the past twenty wasted minutes."

The shinobi stared Reno straight in the eye for eight seconds, then said, "ExACTly. If you can still stand, please do so now. We are going to find Ronald McDonald!" (Wow, this joke got unfunny fast.)

Leaving the wounded to their own devices, the four of them grabbed their respective weapons and set off towards the front door of the McDonald mansion. It was time to go to the mattresses.

...............

...............

"Okay, we checked all the bedrooms AND the linen closets AND the wash room. Obviously, these are not the mattresses to which we should have gone."

"True," Yuffie allowed. "I could swear that the Godfather had the answer to everything. Like remember that road trip we took through Alabama? We left the gun and took the canollis."

"Yeah, but didn't you end up getting raped on camera by eighteen rednecks on that trip?"

"Sure, but that started my entire part-time porno career, didn't it?"

"...Let's get to checking the rest of the house."

"You know," El Cid put out, "I can't help but think you fuckers forgot something real fucking important."

"Like what?" Yuffie responded, trying to elicit details.

"Like...I dun fuckin' know!"

"Well that's really not HELPFUL!" the shinobi shouted, exasperated and tired. "Was it just important, or was it useful, or was it dangerous or WHAT?!"

"Uh – well, three fucking monkeys on fire popped out of my head and those fucking horns went away. That's probably some kinda fucking omen of our fucking doom or some shit."

Yuffie's mouth dropped open. Then she closed it and calmly sat on the floor, deep in thought. Reno was the only one brave enough to ask, "What is it?"

"The Balrog."

At that instant, Durin's Bane burst through the floor, mane aflame and fiery whip in hand. His roar lit Cid's new cigarette, burnt it through, and reddened the tip of each one still in the package in the man's breast pocket. Where were those goddamned Leviathan Scales when you needed them?

Thinking fast, Reno hurled his electro-shock stick directly at the creature's eyes. Although it did not strike the thing, the intense heat of the air surrounding the creature caused the weapon to explode. The brief sparkling output of thermal energy alarmed the Balrog, making it jerk back and lose its whip for a moment. It gave Rude just enough time to whip out his pistol and begin unloading his magazine into its head. Unfortunately, the bullets turned to molten goo before hitting Durin's Bane; golden circles appeared on his forehead. With a roar that shook the building to its foundations, he swung his whip.

All six managed to duck, but the aftershock of the snap sent them all flying out of the window and onto the front lawn. Leaping straight through the roof, the Balrog crashed down upon them, its batlike wings barely slowing its fall. It growled a low growl, making its intentions quite clear to the cowering companions before it. One step forward.

Yuffie raised a hand, cast Ice3 and watched as a puff of steam obscured the thing's face. Scrambling to her feet the ninja began fleeing, Reno and Rude side by side with Cid in the rear. But the Balrog recovered faster than was expected and unleashed its whip upon them, tripping them all. Now they were truly at its mercy: Yuffie glanced anxiously at her stupid little battle timer as it filled up like a snake digesting its prey.

Having been absorbed in taping down the L and R buttons in order to flee, nobody saw the great foot lift in preparation for certain stompification. As though in slow motion, Reno looked over his shoulder to find a great cloven hoof, akin to those of Satan, tore itself free from the ground, leaving a burnt and blackened patch of grass upon the lawn. Cid was loosely preparing his staff for combat, and Yuffie's shuriken were flying faster than anyone could see. But despite it all, it was too late; no one could outrun the massive engine of destruction that now assailed them; even if they made it back to the airship, the creature had wings.

(Most people will realize that here I follow the description of the Balrog as presented most commonly by the religious audience connecting the Balrog to its literal 'demon' form in the sense of a winged bull-horned creature with cloven hooves, or by the massive audience of the three Lord of the Rings films in which Peter Jackson opts for a winged demon, perhaps for the greater scare factor of such a behemoth with all-encompassing, batlike wings. However, there is a large school of 'informed' thought regarding the lack of Balrog wings.

(There's a problematic passage of Fellowship that states "His enemy halted again, facing him, and the shadow about it reached out like two vast wings." Fellowship II 5, TBOKD. This in and of itself is not problematic, but conflict arises due to "...suddenly it drew itself up to a great height, and its wings were spread from wall to wall..." Ibid. The second passage leaves debate as to whether these wings are literal, or the figurative 'shadow about it...like two vast wings'.

(Most anti-wingers point out that Balrogs have never flown, even when it would be advantageous; both Gothmog in combat with Glorfindel and Durin's Bane in combat with Gandalf explicitly FELL to their deaths. Durin's Bane is quite pointedly stated as having leapt the chasm it had to cross to reach the fellowship.

(Other proofs include the fact that such wings would have been enormous; they are stated as stretching from wall to wall of what would have been a cavernous chamber of Moria. In his personal correspondence, Prof. Tolkien described Balrog's as somewhat greater than a man, but not a giant; one should also consider that, through natural selection, the Balrog's would have evolved these useless things, a contradiction in terms. To boot, Tolkien used the metaphor of 'wings of shadow' elsewhere in his work, and as such this lends considerable credence to the anti-wing argument.

(However, one must consider from the 'pro-wings' side that Balrogs are themselves creatures of shadow and flame; taken either way, a Balrog's very body is no more or less real than his indefinite wings of shadow.)

The foot did not crush down.

...............

...............

Gazing up at the hideous beast, no one had noticed that the house was changing considerably. Not that it was alive or anything (just wait til that chapter!), but there was certainly something...odd. A bit of flashing was occurring in the upper levels of the mansion – a red blur tearing at the edges of the structure. Windowsills tore, panes shattered, the gutters fell off, and shingles were ripped from the roof. And then, it disappeared.

The Balrog dropped back, slammed its ass into the ground and flapped its wings once. 'Dead in the water', it scooped at the blood jetting from its chest and coagulated the lava to serve as a poultice.

Before it stood Vincent.

With his torn sleeve bound about his chest, Vincent's bare right arm trembled; the tendons practically jutted from its surface. Clutched tightly in the hand was Death Penalty, held sideways for a smooth aiming field, and the left hand grasped in a reverse-grip a great sword, looking quite heavy and burnt black at the edge from contact with the demon's torso. He was untouched and unfazed; in fact, he wasn't even sweating. Or breathing.

The Balrog advanced a second time. Vincent did not move. When it came within ten feet of the motionless figure, it raised its sword for a strike and let loose a horrific roar that would shake leaves from the trees. Its opponent did not move. One step forward. No response.

Uncertain, the Balrog reached down to grab Vincent. One fiery hand closed about his paralyzed frame and lifted it into the air. The companions below watched in horror as the hand tightly fisted, leaving no room for Vincent at all. He was dead.

He was dead.

Vampiric Vinny was dead. The heart, mind, soul and balls of the team had just been turned into a black dust crushed between the fingers of some weird cross-over freakshow. Yuffie slumped to the ground. Vincent was the greatest fighter among them; without him, what were they to do?

"Vincent!" the ninja cried. "VINCENT! WHY DID YOU HAVE TO DIE, WHY?!?!?! I NEVER EVEN GOT THE CHANCE TO TELL YOU HOW MUCH I LOVED YOU!"

Oh, wait, scratch that. He ain't dead.

The hand exploded. Yeah, literally, what with the sparking fireballs and such. A bloody violet tornado jumped backwards and slammed into the ground, revealing a thoroughly Chaotic gunman. His eyes were pure red.

Without waiting for the terrified Balrog to recover, he sprang forward, flapped his wings once and launched himself into the air, high, above the clumsy and off-balance retaliatory swipe of the fire blade, and alighted easily upon the creature's head. A swift movement jammed the sword into the demon's face. Lava gushing from its eyes, the thing wailed like a cinderblock dragged on cement, "...W-wings?"

"Red Bull. It gives you wings."

He sneered.

"BITCH."

Death Penalty let fifty silver-lined chunks of lead tear through the creature's braincase, digging into the grey matter and severing the top of the spinal column. Vincent's wings retracted, blood spilling as the hooked thumbs of the extra appendages snagged on his skin, and the vampire jumped, the sword dragging itself down the demon's whole front before exiting the groin. The combatant landed in a comfortable crouch, sword tucked back and firearm resting on a shoulder, and did not stand until he heard the SLAM of the massive body striking the ground.

He stood quietly, strode to meet his friends, and tossed an empty can to Yuffie.

"YOU STOLE MY RED BULL, YOU SON OF A BITCH!"

"...And then saved your life with it, moron." Without missing a beat, the SMG spun from its holster and clicked at the ready, bolt open, barrel pressing into the shinobi's scalp. "What was this I heard about you loving me?"

Yuffie laughed nervously. "Oh, yeah...see, um, about that. I – all I said was I love you, not that I'm IN love with you. 'Cause, yeah. He he he ... whoops. Misunderestimastanding, yup? Whew! Glad that got cleared up!"

"You love me? Even _that_ I find...disturbing."

"Well, you see, it's because one day I was in your room – "

"When?"

The shinobi laughed again. "Oh, you remember that – time – when I was – in your room? That time."

"The time you tried to get into bed with me, because, and I quote, 'The Thumpulator was chasing me', or the time you were going to stick my hand in warm water to make me piss myself and realized several minutes too late that I sleep with a knife in that hand?"

The ninja couldn't say a thing. Vincent had always been cold and polite, but now he was downright frigid...and tearing into her like nobody's business with the professional ferocity of a Doberman. It was like he had just snorted a bowlful of 'cream of whupass' soup and was ready to piss something fierce. Yuffie stammered out a response:

"The first one. And, you see, uh, I saw your PTK list and saw that I was on top. Nobody's ever thought I was a first-rate gal before!"

"You do realize that's my 'People to Kill' list."

Yuffie gulped.

"Save it," Vincent assured her. "We've got something to do." He slung the sword at his back and lowered his gun. "Someone leave Reeve a note to put the police on alert for a James McDonald. Reno, Rude, I want a quick smear campaign; pull up his records, show his picture on TV, and when someone finds him and reports him, bring him in. Cid, get the Highwind booted up and fix that damned weapons system. Yuffie, you and I have something to do."

Throwing caution to the winds, she asked. "What do we have to do?"

"Give Jim's dad his just desserts; and trust me, it's not gonna be a shitty apple pie. We're gonna bleed the sucker of anything he knows, then make sure he gets what's coming for him." He racked the bolt of his weapon.

"We're gonna kill Ronald McDonald."

...............

...............

Boo-yah!

Less humor, more action. I felt it necessary to just put in a kind of weird, violent, sexy, badass pie chapter in here somewhere. Like the way I write action? Tell me. Prefer the funnies? Wait for the next goddamn chapter, I'm spent.

Hopefully, Vincent's Dante side will show up more as things progress. Hopefully, I'll work in a meeting with Auron, Sephiroth and Dante himself, just to have a kind of fucked up "check it out, we're all based on the same stereotypical can of stabbity kickass!" moment or two. Hopefully, I still have some jokes up my sleeve to last until chapter forty-two.

DMC is the shit. If you don't have it, but it. If you don't have a PS2, buy one, then buy DMC. If you suck too much at video games to play DMC, beat a bunch of crappy games, then buy DMC. If you don't have money, sell some crack, then buy DMC.

I'm back in school, and I'd imagine everyone else is too. My homework load is considerably greater than it was at my old school, so adjustment is going slow. Thus, writing may take even longer. Horrors. Check back in three weeks-ish. Til then, read Ishmael by Daniel Quinn. It's pretty cool. Two words: telepathic. Gorilla.


	11. Copyright Infringement

Four Feathers by DJ666

Okay, guys, funny story that scared the crap out of me. Literally, LITERALLY minutes after I posted the last chapter, I was on GameFAQs and found out about a new game announced by SE: FF7 Dirge of Cerberus. It's a Vincent-centered sequel to the Advent Children, and although it's still ambiguous, early rumors put it as a DMC-esque action game… 0o

If this story suddenly disappears, you'll know why: THE PATRIOTS!

That's right, Metal Gear teh Solid 3 is out. And it kicketh ass. And The Boss kicketh ass. Much ass. Uber ass. Don't even try to fuck with The Boss. There's only three words to describe her relationships, and they're 'bondage', 'domination' and 'sadomasochism'.

Beat DMC today (and by the time this is posted, that will have been some weeks ago – pre-Halloween, last yearr. Wait a minute, didn't I have another Halloween ep…HAS THIS BEEN IN THE WORKS FOR MORE THAN A YEAR? Wow. Uh, anyway…) Mundus is freaking hilarious and awesome to boot. The ending is cheesier than cheddar cheese pie with cheese chili on top, whipped with cheese. But who cares? You play a Metal Gear game for story, not DMC. Now if Snake got a sword and demon powers…nah, never mind.

But FUCK IT ALL: HALO 2 IS OUT. Beat the shit outta that one, weeks straight. The Arbiter is t3h shizznat. Wrathful smitage occurs in the end-all be-all XBL weapon: the energy sword. It is whored like Babylon. Oh, and listen to the backmasking prayer past the honor guard in 'Whispers in the Storm'.

Content: FUNNINESS, BITCHES!

Disclaimer: Squirrelly wrath shall be visited upon he who pisseth me off…eth. FUN FACT: 'pisseth' is a real word. It's even in the Bible!

……………

……………

Chapter Eleven: Copyright Infringement

"Um…so…Vincent."

"What is it, Yuffie?"

"What exactly are we…doing…to Ron. Ald McDonald. Again."

"We're just going r0xx0r his b0xXx0rzz a little."

"Wait, we're gonna give him webcam sex?"

"We're going to kill him, Yuffie. As painfully as possible."

"Kill as in…"

"Death."

"Right. Gotcha. Death."

Vincent counted off in his head. _Wait for it…_

"Death, as in…"

"Cessation of particular anatomical functions necessitated by the presence of life."

"Right. Gotcha. Cesspool function of nasty presidents' lives."

Vincent sighed exasperatedly and cocked his weapon once; Yuffie fell silent.

Vinnie, my main man. What be happenin'?

The gunslinger lifted an eyebrow. Chaos?

Aye aye, dude. Those were some pretty kickass moves back there. Who's your daddy?

Lacetaemon, the man answered laconically. (It's a DMC joke. Dante's father's name is 'Sparda', a play on the warrior-oriented oligarchic Hellenic city-state of Sparta. The Spartans themselves, however, considered themselves part of the general region of Lacedaemon. They went t- d. I went d- t. Geddit?)

Funny, dude. Very funny. I almost creamed your pants laughing.

Get to the point.

Bitchy today, aren't we?

Just motivated.

Well, I was wondering – can we do Yuffie?

I knew this was going to come up at some point.

Dude, so yeah?

No.

Look, you can just do your little "I'm too busy atoning to care" thing while I take care of the lady.

You know how my atone-o-meter works. Stuff you do transfers to me.

We don't have to actually to do it. We can just masturbate while pleasuring her with a sausage.

No.

Fine, we can use a hot dog.

No.

Well, dude, Chaos insisted, getting a bit angry, if you're not gonna do her then why the hell do you let her tag along everywhere?

She's useful in certain, particular, meatshield-related capacities.

So to you, she's a meatshield. A meatbag. Bags are sacks…MEAT IN THE SACK! Oh, I am good.

What are you, thirteen?

…thousand.

Right. Yeah. Why don't you go back to the Abyss or wherever you came from?

I got cold. And hungry.

Hurts jacking off with claws, huh?

Like the Dickens. Dickens as in dick…DICK IS A PENIS! Oh, I am good.

You've got to stop that or I swear I'll…

You'll what? Chaos pushed him. Kill yourself? Big whoop. You'll end up in hell, which we all know is just a massive, sweaty bondage orgy anyway. What you gonna do THEN?

Kill them all.

Chaos considered silently, then rejoined, You know, I have this terrible feeling that you probably would, so I won't push the issue. I'm just saying –

Okay, that's it. No more Halo 2 for you.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

No.

What the HELL did I JUST say?

Exactly. Now listen, here: we will not have sex with Yuffie. It is repugnant to me. Therefore we will kill Ronald McDonald, slowly and painfully, and then we shall have some Burger King.

But I like Pizza Hut.

Fine, Pizza Hut.

BITCHIN'!!!

Vincent stopped a few feet short of the door. Yuffie continued walking, actually slamming into the wooden portal before halting. "What now, Vince?" she asked, unsure of herself. The vampire frowned, licked his lips and said, "Okay. I need some duct tape, ammonia, a Zippo lighter and at least four Jehovah's Witnesses."

The ninja stared blankly for a second.

"FINE, Mormons will do!"

"Heretic!" called a voice.

……………

……………

Vincent looked up, annoyed and dangerous. "Speak, stranger." He had his sword low in a defensive posture and his gun on his shoulder – he mentally noted that he'd be stretching his triceps and losing muscle in doing so.

"Iconoclast!" shouted the approaching shade. "Apostate! Sue for mercy before God!"

The vampire did not respond.

"Spawn of Beelzebub! Seed of Belial! Long have I sought you since the destruction of the Holy Ikon of the West. Now you shall pay for your blasphemous sins."

Vincent narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?"

"You know me. Do not be a fool."

"I have no idea what the hell you're talking about."

"You know quite well what you did."

"No, seriously. Sometimes my demons take over – "

"OH! RIGHT! 'THE DEMONS TAKE OVER'! Yeah, that will fly with me about as far as a turkey at a Turkish turkey-shoot on Thanksgiving Day." The stranger hefted a considerably large-ass blunderbuss. (It sounds dirty, but it's not. Tee-hee.)

Yuffie frowned. "Why would they have Thanksgiving in Tur – "

"SILENCE, KNAVE!"

"Okayfine."

The man turned back to Vincent. "Iconoclast, you know me. I am Shalashaska, guardian of the Holy Ikon. You took the Ikon and shattered it, long years ago. I have returned in order to restore the shards and defeat you in order to gain the power necessary to – "

"Okay, I've heard enough of this crap. How the hell long has it been?"

"Twenty-two years."

That made sense; back in his Turk days. "What have you been doing this whole time? Just looking for me?"

"Absolutely!" Shalashaska cried in return. "For twenty-two years I sought you. How did you elude me? No news of you for two decades – I scoured the whole planet – er, Planet. How did you elude me?"

"…Dude, I was in the basement."

The Mormon glared dumbly for a moment.

"…God damn it."

"Yeah, now, this Icon – "

"Ikon," the other corrected swiftly.

"…What?"

"There's a K."

"How – "

"Ask him."

They looked at me for a moment with expressions that shouted, "SHAMELESS SELF-INSERTION IS WRONG!"

Vincent suddenly glanced down and lo, his pants were on fire! Ye gads! They swiftly sorted out the short-lived garment blaze and returned to their conversation more mindful of the powers that be.

"Well, this Ikon then – what was it?"

Shalashaska considered Vincent gravely. With shrewd eyes he measured his man, and then at last he reach into his coat and pulled forth, most solemnly…

…a chain of wieners.

"That's a chain of wieners," Yuffie supplied helpfully. Her vampiric companion lifted an eyebrow and regarded her with awe. "Why, thank you. I hadn't noticed." Chaos was having hentai thoughts galore. "Now what exactly does a couple of phallic food items have to do with this sacred Ikon?"

"FOOL!" cried the accuser. "This IS the Ikon, holy avatar of the fertility god Amon!"

"Wait, your god is embodied in a string of interconnected dildos?"

"It's called the Sacred Lingam."

(Did I tell you guys the story of the giant flaming Hindu penis?)

"Whatever," the Gothic gunman returned decisively. "What does this have to do with me, again?"

Shalashaska looked gravely at Vincent once again. With the same reverence as before, he drew ANOTHER HOLY ICON from within his child-molester-style trenchcoat.

"DO YOU SEE NOW, ICONOCLAST?" he shouted, not really a question but a threat.

"I see you've made yourself a set of penis-chucks. Congratulations, you just wasted me three quarters of a page. Get to the point before I supplement the iron deficiency in your diet with a bar of steel." Vincent hefted his sword dangerously. "Something more to say? Or will you be letting your feet do the talking?"

"BASTARD!" ejaculated Shalashaska as Yuffie burst into laughter at my diction.

…

And lo! Her pants caught on fire!

"ICONOCLAST PIG! Can you not see?"

"…Define 'see'."

"The Holy Ikon is twain! And YOU severed it from – itself."

"Whoop. Dee. D." Vincent stared at his opponent intently.

"Ooh."

"YOU HAVE INCURRED THE WRATH OF AMAN FOR THIS ACT OF BLASPHEMOUS HERESY! Not only did you EAT the first Ikon, but you broke the second and slew its holy sentinels!"

"For the love of – holy sentinels?"

"Yea, verily. It was they as are called Robert the Lion-Farted and Stephen Coldbear."

Vincent's eyes widened suddenly and his cool demeanour fell away. Then his visage twisted into a statuesque depiction of concentrated rage, and words were torn from his foaming lips:

"BOB AND STEVE."

Kisaragi regarded her comrade in confusion. "Bob and Steve?"

"They made me take them to your house."

"Why?"

"So they could have sex with you."

"Why?"

"Because they knew you were a porn star."

"Why?"

"Does it have to do with your pent-up Oedipal frustrations?"

"Why?"

"Because you asked."

"Why?"

"Because you're an idiot?"

"Why?"

"Bad genes."

"Why?"

"Because they were ripped." (Get it? Genes / jeans. Please do not attempt to wear a unit of heredity in lieu of pants.)

"Why?"

"So that human beings would be driven to ensure the propagation of their genes, which may or may not be parasites using the human organism as a vector, like a virus themselves, seeking as all things only for their own survival."

Yuffie nodded silently.

"Wait, why?"

"IT MATTERS NOT!" cried Shalashaska. "We must do battle now, for the power to reunite the Sacred Ikon resides only within you."

"Really." Vincent wasn't too convinced. "If that's so, why can't I just do it myself?"

"W – well, because…urm, yeah. Because – because – "

"Wait, let me guess: your real name is Inigo Montoya, and I killed your father. Shall I prepare to die?"

"DAMN STRAIGHT." Shalashaska hoisted his blunderbuss like some kind of crazed Pilgrim with a score to settle and declared, "Let us do battle!"

There was a sound not unlike that of a cow in the act of spontaneous combustion. The business end of the blunderbuss shattered outward and did a fairly good impression of Weird Al Yancovic's hair at 2 AM on a Friday. The business end of Shalashaska plopped to the dirt and did a fairly good impression of two hams being dropped from an overpass onto unsuspecting motorists. And the business end of Vincent's sword finagled its way through the blundering blunderbussier and out his backside.

Run through.

Quite dead.

"You suck," declared Vincent, with a kind of mortal finality to it. Shalashaska gasped, grabbed his assassin's collar, tried to say something, and collapsed, most anticlimactically. However, much to everyone's surprise, rather than gloating over the slain, Vincent plunged forward and kissed him.

"OHMYGODVINCENTAREYOUGAY?" Yuffie shot out, breathless.

"Whmhm mhmwm," he replied.

"WHATISTHATAYESORNOT?"

"I said, 'Rigor mortis'. He grabbed my throat and dragged me down."

"Damn." So much for hot guy-on-corpse action.

The gunman lifted his blade and hewed the offending arm, freeing himself from his compromising position. Yet as he did so, a bit of paper dropped from the clutching hand – a note.

"Lookie here, Yuffster. I think we have a winner."

"But he died," the young shinobi pointed out.

"The note."

"How can a piece of paper win anything?"

"Yuffie?"

"Vinnie?"

"LOOK! A DISTRACTION!"

"Oooh!"

In the moments the blonde-esque brunette took to find the distraction, Vincent opened the letter and began reading.

Sir Inigo Montoya:

"I knew it!"

I am sure you understand that I go out on a limb to settle our plans, and Jim's, upon you. It is well known that you suck at killing people; in essence, j00 phil. Please do not suck at killing Vincent Valentine, however, or we shall be sure to kill what remains of you after you've been shot eighty times in the face. Ta.

Please don't suck,

Dick

P.S. j00 phil

"Jim," said Vincent, slowly. The prey. Jim. In league with the vampire's enemies. And why had he killed Bob and Steve? Why? WHY? ARGH, THIS WAS ANNOYING.

Dude, calm yeself.

Chaos.

Dude, focus on ye task.

Oh, yeah. And that was – what again?

Smitage of yonder dude.

Oh, yeah. Sweet. Let's kill something.

Aw-RIGHT! And Pizza Hut afterwards.

Indeed, Chaos. Indeed.

Sword at the ready, Death Penalty forward, Vincent advanced. Ronald McDonald had better start running.

……………

……………

W00t. Done-ness. I just experienced a horrific graphical glitch in Halo 2: an entire starship ceased to be for the first four seconds of its act. Its poor pilots sat in the midst of the sky, ready to be annihilated, had the thing not popped into itself a moment later. Ouch.

So, what think we? More McDonald? More Jim? More Yuffie? More buttsecks? I'm working, I'm working, I'm working!


	12. And Lo, A Newe Chaptre Cometh!

Four Feathers by DJ666

Fun fact: Chaos' scream at the loss of Halo 2 privileges contains one thousand and two O's, making it the longest anguished scream known to man.

Funner fact: Having read that, forty-four percent of readers will go back, copy/paste the scream into MSWord, and use the 'word count' tool to confirm the previous fun fact.

In other news, there are two reasons it's been so long in the interim. Wait, I just thought of a third one. Let's say 'a few' and see what I can come up with.

Reason one: MGS3. I'm going for a no-alerts game to get the stealth camo. Meaning I have to save about every other area change so I don't fuck it up and not get it.

Reason two: book. Not only am I nearing the 222,222-word mark, but I'm now active on two different writer's boards, so just checking with all my internet peeps now literally takes an hour or more. CORRECTION: Upon this edit, I have reached said mark. Word 222,222 was 'a'. How exciting.

Reason three: I'm now more actively involved in the running of a faction on Gamefaqs. Authoritarian duties are sucking me dry like a Korean whore in heat. (Note: In that statement, I'm dry. It's the Korean whore who's sucking and in heat. Just in case. It seemed a bit ambiguous, you know.)

Reason four: DMC3 came out. I've been too busy ogling it to actually buy it (or work on this), but whatever.

Reason five: More MGS3. Discussion is rampant.

Reason six: Speaking of rampancy, I do more work on Halo-related discussion boards (Primarily HBO) as well.

So in any case, my schedule be bizzay. OH YEAH, and Madness Combat 5 came out: 'Depradation'. Zip on over to the grounds that are new and watch it.

Content: Violence, language, drug use, some kinkiness of sex, and the word 'Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia'. W00TNESS.

Disclaimer: AH! NINJAS!

……………

……………

Chapter Twelve: And Lo, a Newe Chaptre Cometh!

"And then I'm like, 'Suck it!' and I totally kicked him in the nuts."

"…Fantastic."

Yuffie and Vincent approached the McDonald mansion with little heed for traps or guards. The vampire was on a mission, sword and gun ready for action; his ninja companion trailed behind him, trying to elicit anything beyond a one-word response. There was only one task Yuffie knew of that occupied his focus so completely, and it was cleaning Death Penalty. Well, to be fair, he did act about the same whenever he was playing Splinter Cell 5, but whatever. Apparently, there was just something about killing people that turned him on.

"So…Vinnie, how were you planning on killing him, again?"

"Sword," the gunman answered, eyes straight ahead, weapon leveled for the throat.

"Um…what with the sword?"

"Eyeballs."

"…Ew."

"Calm down," insisted the other. "They're just eyes. He can live without them. For a while."

The shinobi lifted an eyebrow. "How long of a while?"

"Depends on whether I hang him upside down so he bleeds out his sockets or not."

"I guess that makes sense."

"Shut up. We're in."

……………

……………

Ronald McDonald worked furiously, slamming items into his briefcase in preparation for his flight. His keys, his gun, his Balrog-spawn, his PSP, his bondage gear – eh, maybe that'd have to stay. Nah, drop the passport and fit the crotchless pants, at least. He did some quick math and decided that if he could fit all his clothes on his person, he could take more stuff on the road. He began changing; and hence, when Yuffie and Vincent busted into his room, he was wearing considerably less than what one might call…you know. Clothing.

"Dude, you're way nakeder than I ever wanted to see you," remarked the former.

"And far more alive, as well," finished the latter.

Ron pondered his predicament. He was standing nude before two young persons armed with more pointy, sharp, death-inducing objects than he could shake a stick at, and they wanted him dead. Which he was probably about to be, so good for them. But bad for him, of course.

Or was it…

"Vincent, you can't kill me," he said proudly. "If you strike me down, I shall become more powerful than you could possibly imagine." Valentine smiled grimly and cocked his weapon, aiming for the head, but Yuffie turned away with a hand to her eyes. "Oh, MAN," she groaned. "He just, uh…activated his lightsaber, if you catch my meaning."

The gunslinger let his eyes flit down for an instant. "Whew. It's a good thing those pants have no crotch, because otherwise you'd have been hard-pressed to find some new ones." He shook his head. Damn…'hard pressed'? Chaos had gotten a penis joke AND a dry-cleaning joke into the same sentence. "You know, it's too bad I have to kill you. That is one huge man-sausage. You're almost as big as the author is. But he's an insecure sonuvabitch, so I guess you have to die now."

Wondering how Vincent happened to know just how big my manhood is, McDonald cringed in fear. "Please, no! I can't die now!"

The vampire shrugged. "It was a figure of speech. You won't literally die now. You'll die after we torture you for a couple of hours."

"I – please, don't kill me!" the naked man begged them. "I'll do anything, please, just let me live!"

"Oh, I don't think so," Vincent said, shaking his head lightly. "You dead, bitch. You dead."

"Please, WHY, WHY! WHY DO YOU WANT TO KILL ME!"

"It's fun."

Ronald McDonald threw his hands into the air. "But why me? WHY ME!"

"Cause you're Jim's dad, so we – "

Vincent stopped midsentence.

You're Jim's dad.

Jim's dad.

Jim's dad.

JIM's dad.

JIM'S DAD.

"Okay, you scumsucking cockbite, you've got one chance to live, and it's a slim one. Tell us where your son is going and we might be inclined to let you go. Or at least, let you not die. In a certain, limited sense of the word."

Ron went pale. "My – my son?"

"Yeah," Yuffie affirmed. "He's sort of been writing smut about the two of us, and it has pissed us off. Massively. Don't you remember?"

"Well," McDonald suggested, "maybe you shouldn't have been doing things smutworthy in the first place."

"We weren't," Vincent answered. "Your son made them up. He's a pervert. A big, fat, greasy, lying pervert."

"I think it may run in the family," Yuffie supplied helpfully, "so you might want to look out for that one."

"Now get up," the vampire barked, gesturing with the barrel of his weapon. "Stand up." Ronald erected himself, weak in the knees. "Now turn around, face the wall." McDonald did so. "Now…

"Which knee do you like more?"

The perverted father furrowed his brow, turning a bit to regard his tormentors. "Which knee do I like more?"

"Left or right," Vincent explained icily. "You've got a fifty-fifty chance, man, it's a bit hard to fuck this one up."

McDonald considered his kneecaps for a moment. They stared back at him, anxious to see who he chose. He could feel it in his cartilage – the one he let die would doubtless look up in its final moments and cry out in agony, 'Et tu, Roné?' Frankly, the idea of discussing mortality with his own anatomy was something of an unpleasant one.

"Can't I avoid this altogether and just tell you where Jim is going!" The father was sweating now, torn between his loyalty to his son and his love for his legs. I mean, his legs had known him WAY longer than Jim had. And hell, his legs sure hadn't milked him for cash all the way through college. Credit, shmedit – it was his money not to lose. He lost it. Big whoop.

"Are you serious!" Yuffie exclaimed. "You'd just – tell us where he is?"

"Yes, yes!" McDonald cried. "Anything to save my legs!"

The Gothic gunman took half a second to consider the situation, lowered his weapon, and shot Ronald McDonald directly in the left kneecap. The man dropped like a rock, ululating in agony like a muhajadeen in heat. "What the FUCK!" he shouted. "I just SAID I'd HELP you!"

"I know," the vampire replied. "I just think it's not cool that you'd abandon your own kid like that."

"Well, he wasn't that great of a kid," McDonald defended himself. "Never played baseball or went outside or nothing. Just sat in front his TV and played them little cartoons. That and did the whoopee."

"What's that now?"

"You know. Did the whoopee." Ron lifted an eyebrow. "Did the whoopee. Choked the chicken. Jerked the turkey. Beat the meat. Played the skin flute. Cleaned the gun. Reefed the beef. Stang the wang. Rocked the cock. Checked the dipstick. Broiled some French onion soup."

"…I don't get it."

"He wangsterbated twenty-five hours a day."

"Oh."

A moment of awkward silence passed. For good measure, Vincent shot Ronald in the other knee. "FUCK," the man screamed, clutching both his legs in tandem. "WHY THE FUCK DID YOU SHOOT ME IN THE OTHER KNEE!"

Valentine shrugged. "I hate those long, awkward silences. They're so uncomfortable, you know?"

"Yeah, I feel ya," Yuffie agreed. "It's like meeting your girlfriend's parents all over again."

The vampire lifted his eyebrow. "Girlfriend's?"

"THERE ARE MORE PRESSING MATTERS AT HAND HERE!" McDonald shouted, trying to regain his captors' attention. "I AM BLEEDING. A LOT."

"You've got a point," Vincent admitted. "Now…

"Which eye do you like better?"

"WHOA! WHOA! LET'S NOT BE HASTY, NOW!" the cripple squealed, holding his hands to the sky. "Just let me tell you where Jim is going, all right!"

"It's about time you cooperated," Vincent remarked. "Now tell us: where is Jim going?"

"Ah…he's – he's going to go find help. He's going to go the most powerful man he knows, the man for whom he writes his smut: the Merovingian."

"We're waaaaay ahead of you, dude." The ninja nodded vigorously. "We blew his house up about a week ago." (Ah, remember that? Back in the day, when making fun of Matrix: Revolutions was still cool? Those were the days. The golden years, if you will. It was a lot easier to make funny stuff back then, since I've seen those movies a shitload of times. Man, they got kickass music and crazy fight scenes and – well, they do have one sex scene, but it sucks. The total of amount of titties seen was far below my expectations. The plot was awesome, though!)

"Well…huh." Ron groaned in agony. "Then he must – he must be going to the only place that harbors perverts like he."

"Really?"

"Really."

"…Where might this – asylum of asshats, as it were, be located? This bastion of bastards? This castle of crap? This – haven of heinous horn-dogs, if you will. Where! Answer, man!"

"Fanfiction – fanfiction dot net!"

Dun dun DUN!

"Ye gads," Vincent murmured as the full force of the statement struck him. "He's – wait. Fanfiction dot net? How does one physically go to a WEBSITE?"

"I think he's bullshitting us," Kisaragi remarked. "I think he needs to lose something. How about a lung? Make him breathe lead."

Vincent cocked his weapon with some satisfaction. "Enjoy your PNEUMONOULTRAMICROSCOPICSILICOVOLCANOCONIOSIS, bitch." (That's a lung disease caused by breathing in certain particles – in this case, bullets.) Yet then, an amazing thing happened: Ronald curled up and began to sob in earnest. More so than before, not desperation – just pure, unadulterated fear.

The vampire lowered his weapon, just to be sure of his eyes. There was a naked man weeping in abject terror at his feet. In an attempt to alleviate the man's suffering, the Goth coldly advised him to not be a total pussy. "At least be a mangina, and get the fuck up" he said, to be precise. It didn't help.

Suddenly, the gunman was torn. "I can't believe this," he remarked sullenly, his voice losing its razor edge. "I've never seen something like this before. There's – " He regarded his firearm in amaze. " – I can't believe I would shoot a man like this, unarmed. Naked. Innocent." He stood frozen for a moment, unsure.

"Meh. I'll get over it."

He leveled the weapon again, but Yuffie knocked it aside. At which point he aimed once more, knocking Yuffie aside in the process. "Say goodbye, bitch."

"No, please!"

Vincent shook his head in disgust. "Man, 'goodbye'. Good. Bye. Not 'no, please'. Can't you even speak English?"

"Who knows what language we speak!" he pointed out. "It could be Armenian for all we know!"

After another awkward silence, Vincent took it upon himself to shoot Ron in the shoulder.

"You sadistic GOATFUCK, what the HELL is wrong with you!"

"You still haven't told me where he's going?"

"It's a website – AGH – yes, it is a real place, though. You see, to get into you have to – I can't believe this – "

"SPIT IT OUT!" Yuffie shrieked.

"YOU HAVE TO GO TO THE SOURCE!"

"The Matrix jokes are getting real stale, real fast, Ronald McDonald." The vampire let his gun arm fall away and lifted his sword to the fore. "Where, then, is the source?"

"Uh…forty-two?" supplied the nude man hopefully.

"Swing and a miss. Try again."

"Okay, okay – it's – whew, boy." He wiped his face. "Basically it's – in the – well, it's – Junon."

"Well," Vincent reasoned, "I guess it figures that it'd be in the city which had a giant phallic symbol violently ripped out of it. Castration seems to be a big thing with these people." He turned back to their hostage. "Where in Junon, precisely?"

"I don't know for sure," Ronald explained. "I've never been. My best guess is, look in the big hole where the penis is supposed to go."

"I am NOT liking where this conversation has headed," Vincent remarked.

"The big – you know Junon used to have a giant penis? Then Shinra cut it off and grafted it onto Midgar?"

"Oh, man, this is SO gross," Yuffie moaned. "I'm gonna puke. Or cream my pants."

"Well, follow the penis-hole," Ron suggested. "That will bring you to them."

"Will do," Kisaragi promised. "Vincent, can we go? This place kind of smells like…you know. Yeah."

"I noticed." The vampire turned and walked away.

"WAIT!" Ronald screamed as the pair began their outro. "Are you just gonna leave me here like this!"

The ex-Turk slowed to a halt. Without even looking, he lifted Death Penalty and fired a single round. It ricocheted about the room and hit two shelves, knocking a single FHM and a bottle of Vaseline to the ground, just by McDonald's left hand.

"Good riddance," the Goth remarked.

……………

……………

"We're going."

"Where the fuck we going?" Cid asked.

"Junon."

"Why?" Reno asked.

"Penis."

"What?" Rude asked.

"You're not coming."

"Thank Jesus."

"Why? He didn't do anything for you," Vincent pointed out.

"Well, except for the whole…you know. Die. Sins. Forgivey. Thingie."

"Meh. Details. Go away. Reno is enough."

"I dunno. Vegas is – "

"Go away."

"…Right."

"Four is enough. Four feathers. It's the name of the goddamn fic, and we're keeping it that way. I can't be bothered babysitting any more than the trippy trio here. Do me a favor and nuke this place."

"Um…the Turks don't have nukes."

"If the North Koreans do, the Turks do. Or just use the Vengeance-12 IRBMs we 'removed' forty years ago."

"Uh – how do you know about that?"

Vincent shook his head. "Dude, what part of 'ex-Turk' don't you understand?"

"Fine, fine."

"The rest of you – come on, let's move. We have to get to Junon before Jim does, so we can ambush him as he enters the town."

"Why?"

"So we don't have to wade through bucketloads of perverts to find him. And by 'wade through', I mean kill. And by 'bucketloads', I mean thousands. And by 'perverts', I mean innocent victims. And by 'don't have to', I mean 'can later at our leisure'."

Everyone stared at Vincent for a moment of awe.

"And by 'to find him', I mean for fun."

FINIS

……………

……………

Ye gads. Another chapter done. And I did indeed use the Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia. So there.

I can't believe this thing is still alive, yet has less than twenty reviews. It seems that crappier, less funny material is constantly pushing this thing into the depths of nothingness, thus preventing people from reading it. I guess I should update more often. But I won't, because I'm lazy.

I'm trying to lose fat since I read this horrible article about how men die and stuff. So tonight I had a salad for dinner. It did have meat in it, though! Grilled chicken. It was pretty good. But it wasn't quite a rare steak slavered in fat over a slab of butter. With extra salt.

In other news…I feel like being n00bish. Hence,

**WHOAMFGTEH BUTTSECKS'D**

'Til next time.


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